Lord Snape's Dilemma
by AprilGrey
Summary: This is for the WIKTT Regency Challenge. Snape and Hermione in a Regency setting. Non-magical, AU but a lot of fun with Cant and the genre. The end is at obscurusbooks dot org
1. Default Chapter

Lord Snape's Dilemma – A WIKTT Regency challenge, which means it's AU (unless I use a plot device) and there's no magic.

Everything belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

"Lud," sneered Lord Severus Snape, "you are pathetic, Potter.  That elbow-crooker we have for a coachman could do a better job at tying this cravat."

"Well, if you would have to compete with Beau Brummel himself for the most complicated style.  And this is so starched you risk garroting yourself, if you don't mind my saying, Sir!"

"But, I do mind, you insolent beefwit.  It may interest you to know that I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this fashion by my servants."

"However, I've always been so much more than a servant to you." Said his valet smarmily, "Much more like a son."

Lord Snape made his most repulsive, intimidating face, one that usually sent both debutants and dowagers into spells of the vapors.  "And how do you arrive at that conclusion, my dear mushroom?"

"Our hair, Lord Snape, both black as pitch, and both totally unruly.  You have spent literally 'undreds of hours attempting to force it to not hang down all limp and oily.  And mine, well, it sticks up all over the place.  I figured when you took me out of that orphanage that I had to be at least a by-blow of yours, or perhaps just reminded you of one of your conquests."

Snape turned pale with anger and almost stuttered.  "You do get above yourself, Potter.  I should sack you for that impertinence.  How dare you claim to be a product of some calf-love of mine?  Such fustian nonsense!"  Snape sat down in high dungeon.

"There, there.  I know you won't sack me.  I'm your most loyal, trusted servant.  I'm the one 'oo watches your back when you're on those double spying trips for the crown."

"Do be quiet!" hissed Snape.  "Now that I'm leg-shackled to that bluestocking, you must watch yourself and that tongue of yours.  I've told you before that she cannot be trusted."

Harry Potter shook his head and fingered his lightening shaped scar, as he was wont to do when confused.  "I don't know why you married her, la.  It wasn't for her looks, or her money—"

"Do mind your own business, Potter!"  Snape walked over to the full-length mirror and observed himself.  Potter was quite right about the hair.  Try as he might, it was a total disgrace.  His clothes might show him to be the Pinkest of the Pinks, but there was no disguising that hideous nose of his, nor the crooked, yellowed teeth.  Since childhood he'd known he was homely and if it were not for his money and position he would probably never be married.  Yet, he thought he had found someone who loved him, loved him for himself.  How great was his disappointment and anger to discover that she was a light skirt!  Against his will, his upper lip twisted at the thought.  The great Lord Snape gammoned by a mere slip of a girl.  And now he must live with it.

"Come Potter, time for my breakfast."  Said Lord Snape as he swept out of the room.

&&&

Lady Hermione Snape was enjoying her breakfast.  She'd just received a letter from Miss Joanna Baillie and was quite excited to learn that yet another play of Baillie's was to be produced there in London.  She heard steps outside the door and quickly put the letter away in her reticule and pulled out a small leather bound romance novel, The Italian.  Living down to her husband's expectations was not easy, but it was nicer than listening to him sneer on about things she really cared about, such as her friend's writing abilities and the endeavors of other talented women.

It pained Hermione no end that the man who so gently had courted and won her had also completely deceived her regarding his tolerance for intelligent and/or educated women.  Hermione had no idea of what had gone wrong in their marriage, but she had almost reached the breaking point and no longer wished to interact at all with the devil her husband had become.  His scathing wit had been so enjoyable once, but now he used it to cut her over and over.  

"Hermione!" said Snape sitting down at the breakfast table and unfolding a morning paper.

"Lord Snape." Hermione nodded her head.  She no longer called him Severus.

He threw her a look.  "And what are you reading this morning.  Science?  Poetry?  Perhaps something by the Wizard of the North?"  Each word he tossed off with more venom than the last.

She shook her head.  "Just a romance, my husband.  And if you will excuse me, I feel a headache coming on and need to lay down."

Severus gave a grim half-smile.  "That is the fourth headache you have had in as many days."

"Thank you for caring."  Hermione rose from her chair and made to leave.

"I did not say that I cared.  It was merely an observation."  His smile broadened at her obvious discomfort.

"I see.  Good day to you, sir!"  She was halfway out the door when he shouted, "Stay."

She turned and looked at him with expectation.  "I cannot have you gad about London dressed like a country hayseed.  Go and get yourself a new set of whatever is in fashion.  Be sure you contact Lady Bulstrode, she always has the best couture."

Snape knew that Bulstrode and Hermione had loathed each other since girlhood.   He turned the page of the paper to cover his smirk.

Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from giving the opinion that it was a good thing that Bulstrode did know a good couture, since her face had been known to scare horses.  Almost a fortnight of marriage, and Hermione had still managed to not lose her usually volatile temper.  However, at this rate she was either going to completely bite through her tongue or give in to temptation and kill the man.  She could see little middle ground for it.  The sad part was that she still loved him and hoped that whatever this grim humor that had enveloped him was, it would depart before her sanity did.

She headed quickly up to her room before he could come up with additional malicious ideas.  Once there, she cast herself upon her bed and cried her heart out. Eventually, the sobbing was spent and she decided to pull herself together and go for a ride in the park.  The fresh air would clear her head and she could come up with a plan to deliver herself from this marital hell.

&&&

Sir Lucius Malfoy gave a final thrust into the trembling heap beneath him.  He rolled off of her and looked into the red-rimmed eyes.  

"Perhaps that will teach you not to backtalk your elders and betters."

Ginny Weasley sniffed, "I'm very sorry, Lucius.  I didn't mean to.  Please forgive me.  Please don't leave me…"

Malfoy got up and started putting on his clothes.  "Whether I stay or go, mon enfant, is not up to you.  You are fortunate that I have need of you, or you would be in the gutter where you belong.

"Now, I plan to have you start up a friendship with Lady Snape.  The blackmail has gone better than expected.  I thought I'd be called out when my note to the blushing bride on her wedding day was intercepted by that dastard Snape.  Instead, I managed to convince him that I'd been having an affair with the chit and she'd only married him because she feared she'd be found out."

Malfoy did a little dance of sheer joy.  "Can you imagine?  The moron didn't even bother to bed her on his own wedding night; instead he got drunk with me and then headed off to his country estate the very next day sans girl.  Ha!  Unfortunately, in spite of his being as drunk as a wheelbarrow, he did not reveal to me his secrets.  I am sure that his loyalty to Lord Voldemort is a damned hum and that he is actually a spy for the Regent.  I just need to prove it.

"And this is where you come in."  He rounded on the young girl.  "I plan to introduce you as my ward.  You are to become intimate with Lady Snape.  She will give you the reports on her husband's doings, and this will free me from any suspicions that Snape might have that I am continuing the supposed affair, thereby avoiding anything so dull as a duel for her honor while I continue to tighten the noose around his vile neck."

He lifted up his hand and pretended he was about to strike her.  Ginny's eyes grew round and she shivered.  He reached down and stroked her jaw.  "By Jove, I never saw a more finely sculpted profile.  Do not disappoint me, mon enfant, and you shall be allowed to keep it."

A/N:  Okay, it's been about 20 years since I've read Heyer or any other Regency romances.  If this story floats your boat and you want to see more, please do review. If there is a lack of interest, I'll take this down from AFF.net and move on to other things.  I do admit that I am dying to hear Lady McGonagall say, "But my dear, that is bad ton."  

BTW, The Wizard of the North was one of the names used for Sir Walter Scott when he was still writing anonymously.  I tried not to go too crazy with the cant, just wanted to set the tone.

Many thanks for reading this far.

Glossary of Cant-

Lud: Polite exclamation

Elbow-crooker: Drinker

Beefwit: Idiot

Vapors: Fainting, or nervous disorder such as hysteria or depression

Mushroom: Someone who tries to rise above his or her station

Dungeon: Bad mood

Calf-love: Immature love of a young man

By-blows: Illegitimate children

Fustian Nonsense: Rubbish

Legshackled: Married

Bluestocking: Academic Female

La: See or exclamation of surprise

Pinkest of the Pinks: A very fashionable man

Light skirts: Woman of easy virtue

Gammoned: Tricked

Reticule: Drawstring Handbag or Purse

Couture: Dressmaker

Dastard: Sneaking, malicious coward

Drunk as a Wheelbarrow: very drunk

Damned Hum: False rumor, lie, trick, etc.


	2. Wherein Snape and Potter are the victims...

Chapter Two – Wherein Snape and Potter are the victims of too much information.

It all belongs to Rowling, except for what you don't recognize.

"Potter, follow me!"  Snape led the way down into the basement, which housed the kitchen.  The kitchen looked as if it hadn't been remodeled in about 100 years.  "Winquella, Winquella?  Fiend seize it!  Where is that demned gel?"  Snape was looking all around him in the dark, cavernous space.

"Here, wait a moment," said Harry as he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Winky, OY, WINKY." There was a sound of footsteps on some stairs and a door from the subbasement creaked open.

"Ere, Arry, why you're shoutin' fit to wake the dead?" The slovenly wench who took care of the house in London year round came up the stairs.  "I was down in the root cellar.  We's run out of turnips." She said with all the importance of having announced the birth of a monarch.

Snape turned to Potter with a raised brow, "Winky?"

"That's right, Lord Snape.  LAWKS, it's LORD SNAPE."  Winky turned around like she was going to hightail it right out and then mastered her panic.  "I'm sorry, sorry, your Lordship.  I didn't expect to see you 'ere."  She gave a small mincing curtsy.

Snape took a good hard look at her.  Number one, she smelled god awful, number two, her hair was in even worse condition than his own.  Number three, at which point he stopped counting and sneered.  The woman, if one chose to designate her as such, was a walking disaster.

"Winky, my dear loyal girl."  He said silkily, as she wiped her hands nervously on her filthy dress.  "How do you enjoy being in my service?  Have I been good to you since you left the Crouches?"

She looked at Harry as if he held the answer to the meaning of life.  When it became obvious that he was going to keep it a secret, she then ducked her head and stared at her feet.  "Well, I couldn't right sleep the first two years because I was wonderin' about the dwot de senior."

Snape looked at Potter with ill-disguised expectation.  Potter stared right back at him and scratched his head.  Snape gave Potter a tiny nod of his head towards Winky.  Potter looked at the drudge. "We don't understand."

She looked from one to the other.  "Dwot de senior. You know rights of his lordship to take what's 'is.  Well, the elder Crouch was in his eighties and the younger Crouch only liked women with arbor vitae on 'em.  And I went to work for 'em when I was twelve and here I am now all o' 38 and I've never even been kissed."

Snape looked stricken.  Droit de seigneur.  What faradiddles had been told to her!  Not to say that women in service hadn't been taken advantage of, but…  Winky?  Potter seemed ready to bolt.  They both coughed nervously.  Who knew the chit would turn out to be such a gabster?

Suddenly, Winky collapsed onto the earthen floor and started crying.  

"Do something, Potter," Snape hissed.

"Like what?" asked Potter with horror.  "Perhaps we should just quietly leave?"

"Useless, you are a useless beetlehead!" muttered Snape as he stalked over to the wine rack, uncorked a bottle and handed it to her.  "Now drink up and be a good girl," he said brusquely.  "I am a married man and there will be nothing of that sort under my roof."  Winky looked up at Snape, wiped her nose on her sleeve and took a long snort of the wine.

"What about my wife?  Has she been treating you well?"  Snape tapped his foot.

"An angel, your worship, an angel straight from 'eaven."  She took another swig.  "The second day she was 'ere, she went to my room.  She bought me a new mattress, and I've got a pillow and sheets and," here the slattern broke down again, "blankets for the winter.  And pantaloons, I ain't had a pair of drawers to my name in over 15 years."  Winky went into a long series of hiccups.  Both men colored up, and Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need to know where your loyalties lie.  If you had to choose between us," Snape looked down his very large, hooked nose at her, "who would you choose."

Winky looked up as if Snape had just turned into a raptor and she were a field mouse. "Why, I couldn't choose, milord.  You've both been very good to me."

"So I couldn't trust you to spy on Lady Snape.  I couldn't expect you to come to me, if she should start," Snape hesitated just a fraction, "to become convenient, frail?"

Winky shakily stood up and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  "You know me mum turned lady bird on me dad and I could never forgive 'er that.  You don't worry none," Winky swayed and jutted out her chin, "I'm all yours."

"Very well, then. You shall be receiving a promotion in rank.  You are now Lady Snape's maid.  You shall be given new clothes, a complete wardrobe in fact, and you are expected, no, required to take baths on a regular basis."

"'ere, that could be unhealthy, un, un sanitizing, and dangerous.  A person could catch their death of cold."  Winky would do so much for Snape but here he was crossing the line of reason.

"Banbury stories girl!  If you need to I will assign Potter here to show you how to bathe safely."  Now it was Potter's turn to panic.  He made a short gurgling sound, deep in his throat.  Winky licked her lips and took another swig.

"Finally, I have a question on her Ladyship's menses."  Snape started to pace so as to avoid the two sets of eyes gawking at him.

"I ain't touched anything that done belongs to her ladyship." Winky said mulishly.

"No, no, her 'time of the month,' you know that 'special time'."  Snape knitted together both his brows as he attempted to communicate something that he had no idea of what it was called.

"Oooh, her bleedin'.  You too delicate to ask her, aren't you?  Don't want to kill the gentile feelin's."  Her eyes were filled with deep understanding.  "Nasty stuff we women are."

Potter put his fingers in his ears, shut his eyes and started to hum crazily under his breath.

"She just finished."  Winky got a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.  "You don't worry, I'll let you know, whenever she's 'on'."

"Actually, you can report to Potter, here."  Snape said with an evil glance to his young servant.

Potter opened his eyes and gaped at Snape, "'Pon rep, your Lordship?"

"I'm putting you in charge of Winky," he said with a certain sadistic glee.  "You are a gentleman's gentleman now, I feel you can handle it."

Potter opened his mouth again, praying to come up with something, anything to disprove Snape's theory of his readiness.

Just then there was a great clattering on the stairs.  The coachman, Filch, showed up in a state of great agitation. "She wants to take a drive through Hyde Park!  What should I do?"

"Potter, you go with her.  Make careful note of whom she speaks to and who even so much as approaches her.  Be especially careful of Malfoy.  Filch will drive the barouche."  Snape turned to go upstairs and then clapped his hands,  "Well, what are you all waiting for?"

&&&

Hermione knew something very odd was happening in the household.  She didn't know what, but suddenly the entire staff of Lord Snape's London house were looking at her like she'd sprouted spots while humming La Marseillaise.  She was seriously considering her husband's sanity, for since her ride in the park that day, indeed her first since her marriage, he'd been giving her an extra special sort of look.  She didn't quite know how to decipher it.  It seemed to be somewhere between 'I have you now' and 'you are not going to get away with it'.  Hermione wondered if her husband suspected that Malfoy and she had had 'dealings'.  But that was impossible.  She hadn't heard a word from Malfoy since before her wedding when he came to her and showed her proof that he was in the position to ruin her first cousin, Remus Lupin.  Fortunately, he had made no demands of her at the time, so she had a clear conscious, almost.

Snape's behavior had been so strange.  Running off before their wedding night, his complete avoidance of their nuptial duties, his downright nastiness to her at times.  She had hoped to come up with a plan of action that afternoon, but had failed to think of anything at all.  If only Potter hadn't prattled on so.  

Her husband was a complete and total mystery to her.  She looked at him from across the dinner table and wondered if she should tell him about Malfoy.  How would he react?  Well, things couldn't get any more bizarre, or could they?  It was so odd to be sitting there eating dinner in total silence night after night.  However, when she did try to start a conversation, he always ended it quickly with just a sarcastic word or two.  It was all so thoroughly tiresome!

Snape observed his wife.  He felt inordinately pleased with himself.  He was getting his house in order.  He'd been upset about her affair with Malfoy, but it did happen before their marriage and now that he was quite certain that she was not carrying Malfoy's bastard, he felt perhaps there was hope for the marriage.  In spite of Hermione's bookishness, perhaps she was merely an innocent who had been seduced by the good-looking rake.  Malfoy did have somewhat of a reputation that way.  Snape, knowing that his servants could be relied on to tirelessly guard her virtue, was in a forgiving mood.  In fact, he planned to consummate their relationship as soon as possible.  Of course, he could hardly just sweep her off her feet and bed her, could he?  Some sort of conversation would be necessary first.  

Snape was about to start speaking when his wife said, "I was wondering what your plans were, and if you would be willing to share them with me."

"My plans?" Snape sincerely hoped that the young woman's talents did not extend themselves to mind reading.

"Yes, will we be staying in London for the upcoming season or do you wish us to retire to your estate?"  Hermione hoped that this question was not going to be answered with a simple yes or no.

Snape looked at Hermione and felt another wave of desire crash over him.  The peach crepe dress she was wearing quite suited her, complementing the warmth of her brown eyes and brown locks.  

"I felt that we should stay the season here.  I want to show you off." Snape quickly applied himself to the last few bits of the roast beef and potatoes on his plate.  

Hermione frowned.  It would be best not to become too much like Mary Wollstonecraft and take offense at the thought of being paraded about like some new bauble. However... "We are not really set up for entertainment.  You have a skeleton staff here."

"I know that," he said smoothly, "and I am already in the process of changing everything.  I have reassigned Winky—er, Winquella to work upstairs as your maid.  I will bring down my butler and cook from the Yorkshire estate.  My butler, Peeves, will take care of hiring whatever additional servants we need."  Snape attempted a warm, sincere smile.  He hoped it was not too upsetting to her, as he had often been told his smile usually made him look like a shark breaking wind.

Hermione returned the smile.  "That should do quite well."

"You don't mind having Winquella as your maid?"

"No, she will be fine.  She should clean up admirably."

Snape wasn't sure if that was a literal swipe at the woman's leeriness of water or a complement on her cleaning abilities; it was probably the former.  At which point he realized that he had run out of conversation.  "Would you like some Madeira?"

"Thank you."  Hermione was about to stand up to head to the parlor where the after dinner drinks were kept.  Suddenly Snape was there behind her, pulling out her chair for her.  She felt her cheeks flush and her heart speed, just like it had while he was courting her.  His power over her had not diminished, not even with the two weeks of his insufferable bad moods.  He took her hand and led her out of the room.

She found herself moments later holding a glass of Madeira and looking deeply into his black eyes.  She took a sip and then he removed the glass from her hand.  He leaned into her and she felt his breath on her face.  She was suddenly afraid of him, afraid of the feelings he was invoking in both her heart and her body.  She wanted to run away.  No man had ever so conquered her rational mind and left her helplessly swooning like this.  She felt his lips touch hers and then she tasted the port still on him as he kissed her with open mouth, pressing his tongue through her lips and into her, something that he had never done before.  She started to go weak in the knees and he held her close to him.  If she had feared that he was planning an annulment, the heat radiating from his body stilled any such anxiety.  She knew for certain that tonight he'd make her his wife.

"Begging your Lordship's pardon," came Potter's voice in extreme emotional turmoil.

"What IS it Potter?"  He rounded on the young man with eyes blazing and the devil's own temper.

Potter shifted from foot to foot as he realized what he had interrupted.  "The Ministry wants you right away."

"WHAT?" There was a look of  'you've really made a mull of it' on the Lord's face and Potter remembered that his wife still wasn't in on the spying business.

'I—I mean, the minister, the parish minister needs you right away.  It's that really, really, urgent matter you were supposed to take care of right away.  They need you right away: they sent a coach."  Harry wasn't sure if he was doing it too brown or not. It didn't matter, since Snape was white with fury anyhow.

Hermione was looking from her husband to his valet with disbelief.  The whole household was quite thoroughly mad.  

Snape bent over his wife's hand and kissed it.  "Tomorrow perhaps?"  He turned around, straightened his clothing and left.

"I don't know why I keep you around, Potter." He growled under his breath.

"And who else would give Winky a bath then?" Potter whispered back.

A/N:  Well, I did more research than you could shake a stick at or waggle an arbor vitae at either.  Did you know that before the 1800s wearing panties, knickers, what-have-you was considered unhealthy and risqué?  They only came into style because Regency wear tended to be a little on the chilly side.  And the full popularity of bloomers came in with Queen Victoria who recommended them as a sort of virtuous type of thing to wear.  So before the 1800s we were all going commando. Whoa!  Even a thong is better than nothing, JMHO.

Thank you everyone for your support in this really offbeat Harry Potter story.  I hope that you are enjoying it as much as I am writing it!

A special thanks to my reviewers: Queenie, Semi-charmed, Lana Riddle and Jackie.  Your support is much appreciated. 

I've included a glossary at the end of this chapter.  Stylistically speaking, I don't get into doing a lot of descriptions of period clothing and décor, which rather leaves me with the language.  La!

BTW, Droit de seigneur is a medieval term  — the right of a noble to take a manservant's place on his wedding night. It probably didn't happen very much even in medieval times, but Winky sure bought into a variation of the idea.  Smirk

Winky's term 'arbor vitae' means penis.  Live wood!  Cool.

Fiend seize it: Damn it

Lawks: Vulgar exclamation

Faradiddles: Lies

Gabster: Person who talks a lot

Beetlehead: A stupid fellow, blockhead

Colored Up: Blushed

Convenients:  Woman of easy virtue

Frail (Barque of Frailty): Woman of easy virtue

Lady Bird: Woman of easy virtue

Banbury stories: Falsehoods

'Pon Rep: Polite exclamation

Barouche: A four-wheeled carriage with a collapsible top, two double seats inside opposite each other, and a box seat outside in front for the driver.

Rake: A man who has all the vices and has attracted and perhaps 'ruined' many women

Make a Mull of something: To make a mess of it

Doing it too Brown: Overdoing something so that it is not credible


	3. Lady Hermione's World

Lord Snape's Dilemma – Lady Hermione's World

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize

 "Custom, from the earliest periods of antiquity, has endeavoured to place the female mind in the subordinate ranks of intellectual sociability.  WOMAN has ever been considered as a lovely and fascinating part of the creation, but her claims to mental equality have not only been questioned, by envious and interested skeptics; but, by a barbarous policy in the other sex, considerably depressed, for want of liberal and classical cultivation.  I will not expatiate largely on the doctrines of certain philosophical sensualists, who have aided in this destructive oppression, because an illustrious British female, (whose death has not be sufficiently lamented, but to whose genius posterity will render justice) has already written volumes in vindication of "The Rights of Woman." But I shall endeavour to prove that, under the present state of mental subordination, universal knowledge is not only benumbed and blighted, but true happiness, originating in enlightened manners, retarded in its progress. Let WOMAN once assert her proper sphere, unshackled by prejudice, and unsophisticated by vanity; and pride, (the noblest species of pride,) will establish her claims to the participation of power, both mentally and corporeally.

"Take that Jean Jacque Rousseau," and Hermione snapped her fingers as she put down her copy of Mary Robinson's Letter to the Women of England, which she found still carried a message as vital now as it had been when first written in 1799.  Her greatest solace, her greatest friends were all found between the leather covers of her books!  She would never have survived the indignities of being married to the brooding and intense man that was Severus Snape had it not been for these very noble and loyal friends.  Hermione found herself again quite moved by the passage written in defense of Mary Wollstonecraft, a great mind that was lost when she died from childbirth.  

Hermione paced her room, still fuming over the injustices put upon women in general and on herself in particular!

Surely the entire household was mad!  Her husband leaving her to help the local minister-- What sort of mooncalf did they take her for?  And what were they all hiding?

Hermione had nothing if not a creative and inquisitive mind.  Up until then all her mental acuity had been spent on her correspondences with long distance (and now that she was in London much closer) acquaintances.  But now she began to conjure up images of where her husband had really gone.

The first conjecture she dismissed as simply too base, that he had a Cytherian and that she was raising a breeze over his marriage.  No, no, she thought, much too prosaic.  That left family problems.  A frail sister who was never spoken of because she had been disowned.  Good.  A mad sister who was kept in the attic of some old and decrepit castle, hmm, it had been done to death in several novels, but that didn't mean that life couldn't imitate art.  Yes, much, much better.  Could he be a spy for Napoleon?  Possibly.  What about his being a spy for the Regency? Impossible.  He made it quite clear that he thought the rulers of Great Britain were a bunch of Muttonheads.  He'd never support the Regent.  He'd spoken his mind over and over in a rather treasonous manner of how the government, especially Parliament was getting in over their heads in the war.  Let Nappy cross the channel and then fight him on our own soil, he'd said.  Of course, that would never happen, thought Hermione.

Sadly, Hermione had totally missed out on the fact that Snape tended to be hardest on his own self and on those he loved.  If he tormented and taunted his valet, Potter, it was because he had no friends except for his servant.  In fact, Snape didn't trust anyone enough to make a friend and never had.  But the power and influence he had over the young man allowed him an intimacy with Potter that, had he been able to be honest with himself, he would have seen was fatherly love of the first degree.

Snape was incredibly loyal, to the point of jingoism, when it came to Britannia.  He felt embarrassed by the depth and intensity of his love for his motherland.  He'd spent his own money and resources for years to protect his country.  He'd give his life for England in a heartbeat, and in fact, nearly had.

And so it was also with Hermione.  Even though Malfoy had tried to poison his mind against her, the venom could not diminish his love for her.  Snape might rant and rail against bluestockings and uppity literati in corsets, but Hermione was indelibly inscribed on his heart.  And even if Malfoy had never said or done a thing, the relationship would have probably hit some major obstacles anyway simply because Snape had one great fear: intimacy.  He'd conquered his fear to the point of his asking her hand from her father.  But to lay himself open enough to say he loved her, well, pigs had an easier time singing "God Save the King".

Thus, Hermione was in essence totally off-track as to why her husband had flown off.  Nonetheless, a bright girl on many levels, she did have an additional insight into her husband's erratic behavior. 

She lay on her stomach across her bed and thought of how it felt; his breathe against her face, his tongue thrusting itself between her lips.  She knew the evils of self-love but still, as she thought of him, quite against her will-- her upper thighs rubbed against each other and the inner throbbing began.  She knew that she mustn't reach down there, that a woman doing so would spoil herself for any man.  She had to wait for him, for 'it' to enter her and split her open.  She knew she'd be brave.  She wouldn't cry out as his hugeness entered her and rent her asunder.  She'd be courageous and not cry from the agonizing white-hot pain that he would inflict upon her that first time they came together.

No, no, she was made of sterner stuff.  She'd lie there and take him, take him all in, without complaint.  She'd close her eyes and think of God and Country.  She'd lose her virginity with honor and dignity… oooooh  God, God, God, God, oh Goooooood!  Her body went into spasms and she spent itself without a sound…

It is a rare and talented woman who is capable of merely using the power of her own mind to reach climax.  Yet, that was the eerie and somewhat witch-like power of Lady Hermione Snape nee Granger's mind.  Completely dressed, sans dildo, sans hands, sans touching herself anywhere, her body climbed up and then sunk into orgasmic frenzy.  It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last.  She stayed motionless on the bed, face and body flushed; bloomers soaked, and forced herself to breath slowly and deeply.  And then the tears came.  

"Severus.  Why aren't you here, my love?" she sobbed.  She felt she knew the answer as to why her husband refused to consummate the marriage.  He was afraid.  He was afraid that he'd be too rough, that he'd lose control of himself and hurt her.  That had to be it, of course.  He just loved her too much to allow himself to debase her with his masculine needs.  Oh my dear, sweet Severus, thought Hermione, if only you knew what a wanton woman you've married.  Not in deed, perhaps, but in mind.

Wiping her tears away, she dressed for bed.  Hit by sudden inspiration, she crossed the hall to her husband's chambers.  She would wait for him here.  And even if he weren't quite ready to cross the threshold from man and woman to husband and wife, at least she'd have the comfort of his presence.  She inhaled his scent from the sheets on his bed and blissfully fell asleep.

&&&

"Thank you so much for coming, Count."  Lady Minerva McGonagall rose and escorted the handsome man to the door of her sitting room.

He bent over her hand and gently kissed it.  "It is not often that I leave my humble dwelling anymore.  I choose now to, like Candide, "Cultivate my own garden." I fear I shall never be able to escape the horrors presented by my memories of the last century."

"My dear Count.  If your vision was correct and my Grandnephew is indeed well and living in London, I shall pray for you each and every day that your sorrow be lifted as a reward for your service.  Yours is a miraculous power to do good in this world, but you cannot save us all."

With that, the elegantly dressed man left.

Albus Dumbledore, Majordomo and long time confident of Lady McGonagall closed the door on the man that he considered to be no more than a trickster.

"My Lady, I hope you did not give him too much as recompense for this vision." In spite of the harshness of his words, the gentle twinkle of his blue eyes showed that he had only concern for her well-being.  He popped a sugarplum into his mouth.

"Not even a penny, my dear Albus."  She sat down and poured another cup of tea and gave it to the wizened man before her.  "I was a child when I first met the Count de Saint-Germain.  His looks have not changed a wit in sixty years.  He is a wizard of the first degree.  And if he says my Grandnephew is alive and well in London, then he is.

"I shall write to Lord Snape and let him know that I will, after all, be taking him up on the offer to stay with him in London for the season.  He has a young wife now and he was hoping I would instruct her in the way of the Ton.  Perhaps we will kill two birds with one stone.

&&&

Lord Severus Snape found himself cast headlong back into his old profession of double agent.  It had been awhile.  Hidden in the hold of the swift free trader's vessel, Snape realized that he could have said 'no'.  He was married now and Lord Nelson, Wellington, Prinny, they would have understood.  But he couldn't, not so close to the defeat of Napoleon and his greatest supporter, Lord Voldemort.  

He hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Hermione.  He thought back to his last mission and how it had led to him meeting his wife…

tbc

A/N:

Just had to share this one with you:

Lady C------g and her two daughters having taken lodgings at a leather-breeches maker's in Piccadilly, (the sign of the Cock and Leather-Breeches) was always put to the blush when she was obliged to give anybody direction to her lodgings, the sign being so odd a one; upon which my Lady, a very good sort of woman, sending for her landlord, a jolly young fellow, told him, she liked him and his lodgings very well, but she must be obliged to quit them on account of his sign, for she was ashamed to tell anybody where it was. "O! dear madam," said the young fellow, "I would do anything rather than lose so good lodgers, I can easily alter my sign." "So I think," answered my Lady, "and I'll tell you how you may satisfy both me and my daughters: only take down your breeches and let your cock stand."

For more period jokes:

For those of you interested in Mary Robinson's Letter to the Women of England, please go to:

Robinson was in the letter referring to the French philosopher, Jean Jacque Rousseau, who obviously didn't support her feminist cause.  Also in the letter she referred to Mary Wollstonecraft who had written a major early text of feminism, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) and who died early in life from puerperal fever.  Her death was a complication of giving birth to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (1818).

Not much in the Glossary, not that I'm lazy but I don't believe cant is proper speech for ladies.  I could be wrong, if someone knows better, let me know.

Mooncalf = Fool

Cytherian = Mistress

Muttonhead = Fool or stupid person

Rousseau = 18th Century French Philosopher

Mary Wollstonecraft = 18th Century Feminist

Sans = Without (middle English from old French, found used in both Shakespeare and Chaucer)

Majordomo = steward

Ton = Everything that is fashionable, the cream of society

Candide = Satirical 18th Century book by Voltaire

Prinny = nickname for the Prince Regent

Raising a breeze = up to some mischief

Someone wanted me to incorporate magic into the story.  Well, you don't get any more magical than the appearance of Le Compte de Saint-Germain.  For more information on this historical yet mysterious and reputed immortal, please go to:

Many thanks to my reviewers: Faeschild, NJFirescape, Manaliabird, MadAboutHarry, Queenie, and Tracey

I promise to be less scholarly in my next chapter. Please don't get turned off!!! And lot's more Severus coming up.

( It's just that if Hermione's a bluestocking, well, it's all meat and potatoes to her.  And, before anyone asks, yes, my Ph.D. thesis was to be on late eighteenth century, early nineteen-century Feminism and Gothic theatre.  Let's not even go there, shall we?)


	4. How They Met Part One

Chapter Four – How they met.

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

A/N:  I forgot that FF.net does not allow URLs, so the references I gave in the last chapters, including the Regency jokes, did not show up.  So sorry, and if anyone is dying for those references, please feel free to e-mail me.

He hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Hermione.  Strangely, it was because of his last mission that had met his wife…

November 1813:

The cough that had started as a tickle in his throat had taken on a life of it's own.  It was a creature now, heavy and dark, constricting his chest and mocking him with every breath.  Snape waited, hidden amid boxes of shipping on the dock, for the small rowboat that would take him to the ship returning him to England.  Snape smiled in spite of the pain and the wheezing.  He hadn't thought that he would have made it this far.

Two weeks ago he'd been in Leipzig with Lord Voldemort's forces.  The French were hopelessly outnumbered and began to exit from the town via the bridge over the river Elster.  He made it out by only a few seconds.  Even so the blast, coming from the bridge being prematurely blown up, had thrown him into the shallow, freezing waters of the river.

Soaking wet, he quickly scrambled up the bank and removed the letters of introduction and safe passage written to the Swedish Prince Bernadotte who was in charge of the British forces.  The letters were ruined and with them were ruined his chances of passing onto the Allies' side.  Fortunately, the other papers he had, the ones that would protect him from being killed by the French and the other paper giving the name of his valet and his home address in London-- should he wind up dead anyway, had been put into a special water proofed envelope and sewn into the lining of his cloak before he had even begun the mission.

Because of the loss of the free passage letters, he spent two weeks traveling quietly and carefully through Allied occupied territory.  Finally, he arrived at the small coastal town where his contact to the free trader vessel could be found.  After two days, he left his hidey-hole in an old, rotting, storage building and set off to his homeland.  He hoped he'd live long enough to die on England's sweet soil.  That's all he needed to do now that his job was over.  Napoleon and his strongest supporter, Voldemort, would never survive their losses at Leipzig.

He had no memory of the Channel crossing or retrieving his horse from the Rose and Fife's stable where it had been for the past few months.  In fact, the old nag he was given wasn't even the horse he'd boarded there. The pub's owner, Dedalus Diggle, realizing that he was dealing with a soon-to-be dead man, had decided to give himself a bit of profit by switching horses.  To give the man credit, he only decided to do so after Snape had stubbornly refused all offers of help or medical treatment.   

However, this little bamboozle probably saved Snape's life.

When the inevitable did happen and Snape passed out, Crookshanks took his rider directly to the home where he'd spent his productive years, the stables of Baronet Charles Granger.

Hermione went over to the lace curtained window to see what had the dogs so upset and gaped at the horse with a man slumped over it.  "Papa?"  It had been raining all day and the skies had only cleared as the sun was setting.  The beauty of the sunset was an odd contrast to the strange vision of a man lying half dead on the horse.

"I see him, Hermione." Granger was already at the door.  "Don't worry, dear.  Longbottom! Eh, Neville where have you got to?" Granger, a rather portly man, called to and was greeted by the gentle giant coming in from the pantry.

Together they brought in the unconscious man.

"Maggie love, d'you want him upstairs or down?" he asked his wife.  

"Downstairs guest room would be best, I think," replied Lady Margaret Granger.  "I imagine we shall be doing a bit of running about.  He doesn't sound good at all."

"Right then." He and Longbottom continued along a narrow hallway and put the wheezing man down on a small pallet in a back room.  It had originally been a storage room, but had been adapted as a sort of hospice for the sick or dying indigent who was sometimes sent there by the parish.

Hermione followed her mother, intrigued by the stranger and trying to get a better glimpse of him.  He was well dressed and probably a gentleman, but it looked like he'd been traveling for quite a few days.

"What should I do, Mama?" Hermione asked.  This was all so exciting; like in one of the lending library romances she often borrowed.  The dark stranger taken ill…

"Go have Cook boil water.  Neville, you need to strip him down and we'll get him cleaned up.  It sounds like a bad chest infection; I'll start making a sinapism.  We will need fresh willow bark, so ask Lavender to head down to the creek.  Ah, there you are girl; so go get a lantern if you're scared of falling in.  Oh, very well, Neville go with her as soon as you are done here! 

"Hmm.  Do we still have sauerkraut juice?  And then some elderberry wine-- He looks liverish, so do we have milk thistle?  I think I have some in the pantry…" Lady Granger was talking out loud to herself now as the household gathered round and took marching orders.  

If Nappy had Lady Granger on his side, we might all be speaking French, thought her devoted husband.  He cleared his throat.  "Shall I go get Dr. Black?" Asked the Baronet nervously.

"Why, so the poor man can be bled to death? You know my feelings about modern medicine.  No, we take care of him the way my grandmother showed me.  Now go along Hermione, plenty of time to gawk at him later."

The entire household scurried away, except Granger.  "Well, Maggie, and what shall I be doing then?"

"I'd like a large glass of port and some bread and cheese.  I need to keep up my strength for this.  I truly fear the man is too far gone."  Granger gave his wife a brief hug, a kiss on the forehead and went off to get her some food.  Lady Granger began ripping up old cotton sheets to make the sinapism for his chest.  

Hermione returned with a pail of hot water, soap, clean flannels and rags.  Her first knowledge of her one-day husband, Snape, was physiological.  She began at his toes and worked her way up his legs with the soap and water.  Then she did the same with his arms.  She stopped for a few seconds at an unusual tattoo on the inside of his left arm.  She thought it strange that a gentleman, as she supposed he was, would have something on him only worn by circus freaks and Indians! 

Hermione turned round to ask her mother what to clean next, having finished with his extremities.  Unfortunately, her mother had already gone to the kitchen and was heating the flour and mustard for the sinapism.

She kept his privates covered while she cleaned his upper torso.  She wasn't sure how completely clean he needed to be.  This was the first time her mother had put her in charge of clean up.  She supposed it was because she was now seventeen and an adult.  

She tried not to look at his face, as then she'd have to admit that she was alone with a naked man.  And then she'd be too embarrassed to continue.  She wanted to simply wash his feet or shoulders, and just think of him as a collection of body parts and nothing more.  But as much as she wanted to deny it, he was, quite undeniably, a man.  She touched the black hairs on his chest and shivered.

And he was burning up with fever!  The heat was radiating off of him. She needed to take care of him quickly now.  She knew her mother's belief about illness-- that cleanliness was next to Godliness and so a clean body was the first step to coming closer to God's love and a cure for any ill.  And, even though it was a heretical notion, most people sent for her mother instead of Dr. Black when ill.  Hermione tried not to get involved and didn't want to learn the old ways from her.  She always felt a bit embarrassed that people considered her mother the local witch!  But she wasn't, was she?  Her mother was an herbalist that was all.  No witchcraft at all involved…

Snape started coughing, bringing up brown clumps of mucous.  She gently held his head to the side so he couldn't choke on it.  Hermione wanted to be able to handle taking care of him.  But her hand was trembling as she wiped his mouth.  And she also wanted to go running to her mother and bury her face in her skirts.  She could hear her off in the kitchen, haranguing Cook for having misplaced the sauerkraut.  She pulled his torso toward her and, swallowing her fear, she quickly swiped at his bottom with a soapy rag.  She threw that one away.  Then, picking up another clean rag, she again steeled herself and washed his privates under the sheet.  Not daring to look, she cleaned by touch alone.  Hermione's eyes grew large as the area beneath her hands began to harden and swell.  She finished quickly, trying not to notice that the sheet was tented.  She hoped it would go down before her mother came back, although she knew her mother, having taken care of so many people, was quite inured to any and all peculiarities of the human body.  

Hermione was shaking all over by the time she'd finished.  She finally looked at his face.  It was drawn and pinched.  The skin seemed like parchment under several days' growth of beard.  He had a thin, aquiline nose and thick dark eyebrows.  His cheekbones were high and, putting all his facial characteristics together, she thought he resembled some wondrous and sublime bird, perhaps an eagle or even a phoenix!  She cleaned him off again after another fit of coughing had brought up more brownish sputum.  Tentatively, she put her hand out to touch his face and brush away a lock of hair.  She felt like she'd never really looked at a human face before and she was awestruck by the fierce nobility she saw therein.  

Even before Hermione had ever spoken to Snape, she had given her heart to him, as only a seventeen year old could!

Lady Granger came back in the room with a large tray.  "Now girl, first we get him to drink the sauerkraut juice, then we put on the plaster.  I'll then go prepare the willow bark and you will have to check to make sure his chest does not get too red from the mustard."

Hermione gladly and gratefully surrendered herself to her mother's instructions.  For the first time in her life, she felt proud of her mother's talents.  If anyone could help the mysterious stranger, it was she!

&&&

Snape was listening to someone reading.  Normally, he didn't like to be read to.  But the person's voice was soft and gentle and he liked the topic.  It was an "Ode to Britannia."  He felt tired, and his body hurt, but it was soothing to just lie back and listen.  For a moment his eyes flickered open and he saw what must have been an angel.  She had a halo of hair and light surrounding her.  Snape sighed and went back to the darkness.  He was rather glad that angels didn't read from the Bible.  

Hermione stood up and thought back to how lucky they had been to locate Snape's address last week.  Longbottom had been on the verge of burning Snape's clothes, as they were irreparably soiled, when Hermione did one last check on them and had discovered the waterproofed envelope sewn into the lining of his cloak.  It had been three weeks since the mysterious gentleman had appeared.  Address in hand, her father had immediately left for London.  Hermione hadn't read the papers in French, but instead had quickly hidden them because of an intuition that they could in someway be damaging to the man.  

Hermione stood at the kitchen door and looked out at the young man who seemed so dedicated to Lord Snape.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Please, I'm just Harry.  Do you have some news?" Harry's green eyes were bloodshot and shadowed.  His face had thick, black stubble from his untended beard, having left London without taking a shaving kit or even a change of clothes.  He hadn't been able to sleep at all, even when it was someone else's turn to be with Snape.  The fever had been as stubborn as its owner and refused to break.  Potter wondered from moment to moment if he'd ever hear his master hurl abuse at him again.

Harry breathed in deeply the fresh early December air and tried to clear his head after spending the night by Snape's side.  He had felt a little silly when Miss Granger had found him this morning holding the older man's hand; however, as long as Snape didn't know, what did it matter?  He still thought that he should send to London for a physician, but he was a bit intimidated by Lady Granger and didn't want to offend her.

"Yes, Harry.  I think he came round for a few minutes.  I was reading to him and--" Hermione stopped when the young man dashed past her and into the house.

"Your Lordship?"  Harry was on his knees holding Snape's hand. "Lord Snape, it's Potter, sir."  Tears were forming in Harry's eyes.  "Oh do wake up, you, you stubborn old, big-nosed scoundrel."  He put his hand on Snape's forehead to see how bad the fever was.

Without opening his eyes, Snape said in a voice that sounded like it was from beyond the grave, "Just when I thought I'd made it to Heaven, you show up.  Now I know I'm in Hell."

"Neither sir.  You're still with us, praise God." Potter whispered.

"Wonderful," and he managed a small, but quite deliberate sneer.

&&&

Under normal circumstances, Snape and Hermione would have never gotten together.  It was simply Snape's good fortune to have his horse stolen from him and to have nearly died of a lung infection.  It also helped that he was literally, for most of his stay at the Grangers, too weak to be able to string together more than a sentence or two at a time.  Thus, the sneering, sardonic, nasty, sarcastic side of him was almost completely absent from his persona.  

"Read that poem to me again, Miss Granger." He was half sitting up bolstered with numerous pillows and attempting to drink some beef tea.  He was bored out of his mind and that one poem on Britannia was the only one out of the collection that he actually liked.  Still weak from the illness, he had to choke back tears whenever she read it.

Hermione was thrilled.  The thin book of poems had been a vanity printing of her own work, suggested by William Hazlitt himself.  She hadn't met Hazlitt in person but was delighted that the essayist had contacted her through the publisher of The Examiner, a publication where Hermione had already sold and seen printed two poems!  Hermione, who had taught herself to read at the astonishing age of three and taken quill in hand less than a year later, had in the past four years often sent off her verse in hopes of publication.  However, it was only in the last six months had she started to be taken seriously.  Her "Ode to Britannia" was her second poem to be published and had attracted the attentionsof several personages of note.  No one knew, except the publisher, that Portia Stone the writer and Hermione Granger were one and the same.  And, if Hermione could help it, no one ever would.  It was her secret and she hugged it to her like a hidden lover.  Of course, her parents probably would not have minded her being a writer, they indulged her in everything, but it was best to stay on the safe side and not let people know.

Snape watched Hermione reading with distinct pleasure.  However, he was aware that any amount of pleasure taken in Miss Granger's presence was too much.  One didn't dangle after your host's daughter unless one was planning to make an offer.  And he knew that if he did so the best he could hope for would be pity, and the worse ridicule, from the young lady.  So Snape behaved himself in order to get well quickly and make his escape from her all too loving ministrations.  Within a week of the fever breaking, Filch arrived with a large rented coach, guaranteeing the optimum amount of warmth and comfort, and a fur-covered Lord Snape made his departure.  Everyone, except Hermione, was most relieved to see the man depart.

Hermione sat at her window and watched his coach leave.  Normally she would have then gone and written some correspondence, had dinner, read a bit, and gone to bed.  Instead she continued to sit there.  The sun set, the fire died in her fireplace and still she sat.  Eventually a large tear ran down her face, which she neglected to even brush away.  She had thought that when he left she would start her first novel.  It would be about a mysterious stranger who arrived in a young lady's life.  He would be a nobleman with a castle somewhere, she hadn't decided exactly where.  And he'd fall in love with her. That didn't happen though. And, when Snape left part of Hermione went with him.  For the first time in her life, she didn't want to write.  She didn't want to read.  She didn't want make-believe anymore—she wanted him.

tbc

A/N:  Well, I am doing less and less cant.

Glossary:

Bamboozle = Trick

Sinapism = mustard plaster, time proven remedy for chest infections and sore muscles

Willow Bark = natural occurring salicylic acid to reduce fever, inflammation and pain

Sauerkraut Juice = Detoxifier, provider of enzymes, lactic acid, vitamins, being fermented it has many of the benefits of yogurt in that it supports healthy intestinal flora.  Was in use during Regency!

Elderberry Wine = There is a naturally occurring anti-viral property in the elderberry, and high levels of vitamins, and antitoxins.

Milk Thistle = Aids Liver detox

Nappy = Nickname for Napoleon

Dangle after = Hang about, be enamored of

Make an Offer = Ask for hand in marriage

Many thanks to Tracy3, Lana Riddle, MadAboutHarry, Manaliabird and Queenie

I've now decided on a literary device to bring this story back into the HP universe.  I'll include that as an epilogue.  You don't need to read it though, as I intend for this piece to stand alone.


	5. How They Met Part Two

Chapter 5 – How They Met- part two

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

Snape was enjoying his tea.  There were crumpets, clotted cream, raspberry jam and sweetmeats, and… Potter, damn him, was doing everything in his power to get him to put some weight back on.  Was he a child to be coddled and enticed to eat?  Snape snorted and then sighed, yes.  The fact was that Potter had been going to extraordinary measures to make him feel better, including getting that awful rag of a woman to cook up something besides burnt toast.  And Snape was feeling more and more like just a querulous old man.  He wasn't as young as he used to be and his health simply was not coming back as rapidly as it used to.  He hadn't felt like getting dressed or going out.  But, he was going to change all that, right now…

"Potter!" yelled Snape.

"Right here, Milord."  Potter stepped into the room.

"Have you been spying on me?" Snape glowered.

"Of course, Lord Snape.  Wanted to make sure you didn't keel over and drown yourself in the Devonshire cream."  He walked over and took a quick finger full to taste. "Quite fresh, I went out and purchased it myself this morning."  He made a sad face.  "And you've barely touched it."

"Well, I want to get dressed.  I need to do some shopping.  Christmas is nearly upon us you know."  He tried to get up quickly from his chair and the room spun.  Suddenly Potter's arms were around him.  Damn.  Why didn't Potter just unman him and get it over with? 

"I don't need you."  He pushed the younger man away and fell back into the chair.  "Get OUT!" Snape put his face in his hands.

He admitted that he just wasn't himself anymore.  He'd been having a fit of the blue devils since his illness.  He felt so nervous, so lost.  He felt… alone.  He wanted to hear Miss Granger read to him and just quietly lay in her arms.  He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and he schooled himself not to think of it.

Snape heard voices from the hallway.

"Of course, his doctor was telling him just the other day that the air in London is bad.  He needs to go to the country to recuperate.  Problem is that the trip to his Yorkshire estate would probably kill 'im."

"Potter, who are you –" Snape stopped at the sight of Baronet Granger.  Suddenly he felt a bit silly, still in dishabille in the afternoon.  However, he was still officially recuperating.

Granger took his hat in hand. "I was just telling your man that I feared I might be coming at a bad time."

"Nonsense, please do sit down." Snape swallowed and felt his heart begin to speed.  Damn, the least little excitement and he turned as weak as a kitten. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence?  Is everyone well?"  He kept his voice even and slow, in spite of the strange feelings that were rushing through him.

Granger did not sit down. Instead, he flushed and stammered out, "The thing is, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, Hermione—"

"Hermione!" Damn.  Snape didn't mean to interrupt, but couldn't the man get on with it?  Damn him, he's a boorish cub, with the soul of a farmer.

"She's gone off her feed," said the squire, puce as a beetroot.

"I take it you are speaking of your daughter and not a filly?"

"You know I am," he growled back and for a moment he looked like one of his own bulldogs about to attack.

With anyone else of his rank, Snape would have laughed him out of the house.  It was, after all, an old ploy to get a rich suitor back:  that the girl had taken ill, gone sick with desire when the mother was really pulling the girl's corset too tight and feeding her vinegar to make her look ill.  But with the Grangers, especially Lady Margaret Granger, he knew such traps would never happen.  They had had their daughter late in life and it had been a given that Hermione did not wish to ever leave them.  No wonder Granger looked like he wanted to draw Snape's cork or call him out.

"So Hermione is not well." Snape gestured to the chair hoping that Granger would finally sit down.

"Maggie said I should come down and invite you over for Christmas.  Perhaps if she were get to know you better—"

"She will change her heart?" Snape said in a silken voice.  Granger nodded.  "Well, it is possible, she's very young."

"Most of the girls her age in our area are either married or engaged." Granger sputtered.  "But our Hermione, she was always sensible.  Wanted nothing of it."

Snape slowly got up, shooting an evil look at Potter who was ready to come over and assist him.  Now at least they were both standing. Snape strode over and stood toe to toe with the Baronet. "And am I such a bad match?" He looked Granger straight in the eye.

Granger looked down at the floor.  "It wasn't that, though you are known to have a rather dicey disposition.  We didn't think you'd want her.  Strange she is, and always has been.  All those books.  If she'd wanted a Season, we would have given her a jolly good one.  She didn't.  And then you come along and she's a different girl."  He looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth and wanted to spit.  He turned to leave.  "I'll be sending your regrets to my wife."

"I will accept your wife's kind offer."  Snape gave an oily smile.  "After all my doctor thinks it would be good for my lungs.  All I ask is no more sauerkraut juice, please?"

Granger put his hat on and again started to leave.  "Thank you."

"Don't say things you don't mean." Snape continued in a soft voice.  "You are hoping that she will take one look at my ugly mug and realize that it was just the romance of playing nursemaid that made her feel that way.  I'm putting you on notice-- if her feelings prove true, I shall ask you for her hand in marriage."

Granger's eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his face and he clenched his fist. "When shall we expect you then?"

"The day after tomorrow." Snape quirked a smile.  "I have some shopping to do…" After Granger left, Snape locked the sitting room door in Potter's face.  He wanted privacy to think.  He wanted to gloat.  He wanted to climb up to the roof of his house and shout out to all of London, to all the sour faced matrons and their simpering little debutants, and to the fine young men all straight of teeth and nose that had scorned him and mocked him over the years, 'Yes, Miss Granger loves ME!!!!'

&&&

Neville Longbottom was arranging hothouse flowers in a vase and Lavender Brown was darning in the corner nook.  Snape noted that the Grangers were taking no chances on their daughter being left alone with him.  He didn't mind.  He was happier than he'd been in years.  He swept into the room and was welcomed by a shocked smile on his, repeat that, his Hermione's face.

"Lord Snape!  Mama told me to expect a surprise today, but you?  What are you doing here?" Her eyes were fever bright, but the warmth of her voice was unmistakable.  And he wrapped himself in that warmth.

Snape noted that the girl before him was much changed.  There were dark circles under her brown eyes and two flushed marks high on her cheekbones.  There was no sign of artifice and he could see by the boniness of her wrists that she had lost an alarming amount of weight.

"Revenge! I am merely here to take my revenge on you."  He pulled up a chair to where she sat on the chaise lounge.  "I am here to ensure that you float away on rivers of beef tea and consume enough baked eggs to choke a plow horse."  At her moue of disgust, he continued smoothly, "You have given the people you love a terrible scare.  Your parents were so worried that they went and fetched me, thinking that I had somehow cast a spell on you.  However, they were wrong."  He lowered his voice and whispered in her ear, "You were the one who enchanted me."  He looked to see how she would react and was pleased with his result.  Perhaps John Kemble at the Drury Lane Theatre had said it better, still Snape felt he'd done an admirable job with the line.

She closed her eyes, sighed and bit her bottom lip.  Snape found the movement incredibly erotic and yet at the same time charming.  Any chit in London would have been fluttering her eyelashes and pretending vapors.  Hermione's reaction was sincere.  Snape's attention was sharply drawn away by the coughing fit that Lavender suddenly threw and then to the cracking of knuckles by Mr. Longbottom.  It seemed he had crossed an invisible line and was being warned back.

Rosie Sprout, the cook, came bustling in with a platter of food and set it down on the table.  Snape noticed that the books, which seemed to follow Miss Granger wherever she went, had vanished.  Nor was the table covered by correspondence.  Normally there was no space at all available there.  He walked over and picked up a plate.  "Ah, Miss Granger, time for your baked egg."  He brought it over to her and spooned out a small amount.  Hermione stared into his black eyes as he placed the teaspoon full of egg into her mouth and she licked her lips and swallowed.  "More, Miss Granger?"  She nodded and he continued to spoon-feed her.  When they were done, he walked over and picked up a cup of posset.  He sniffed, "Ah, yes, some lovely warmed milk with brandy.  Are you ready, Miss Granger?"  He brought it over to her and held it to her mouth as the sipped.  Their eyes met and Snape damned the fact that all convention and society, not to mention her parents, forbid him to grab her and kiss her on the spot.

&&&

Shape entered the Granger's parlor, and like their daughter, it had much changed.  It was dark and gloomy, lit by firelight alone when normally it was a rather warm and enticing room.

"How is she?" asked the Baronet in a rather sullen voice.

"Longbottom carried her up to her room and she's resting.  She ate well." There was a long pause and Snape wondered about the funereal aspect that the once charming room had taken on. 

Lady Granger broke the tension that had begun to build. "Hermione was always happy here."

She sounded very different.  Not the strong, self-assured woman he had known during his stay.  Enough, thought Snape.  I'm tired of being treated like the villain in some Drury Lane entertainment, not caring that he had just stolen some choice lines from said establishment.

"Lady Granger, I never attempted to alienate your daughter's affections.  Though I do have tender feelings toward her, I never revealed them."

With that she gave a small cry.  "I am very sorry if you are under the impression that we blame you.  It was entirely my fault."  Snape heard her husband reproachfully murmur his wife's name.  She continued, "Hermione, having always been a level headed girl, well, I made the mistake of thinking she could handle the responsibility of your care without becoming emotionally involved.  I was wrong."

Snape still didn't understand.  "How can you be so sure that she just hasn't fallen ill of her own accord?"

Lady Granger got up and walked over to a bureau in the corner of the room.  She removed a key from her chatelaine and opened a drawer.  She took out several sheaves of paper and handed them to Snape.

He sat down near the fire and proceeded to read.  After a few minutes he looked up.  "It looks like notes for a novel of some sort.  The lead character does bear a passing resemblance to me."  He quelled the urge to chuckle, as he had never in his life been described in such glowing terms as in the little snippet he'd read.  "The dialogue is quite good.  Hermione did write this?"

"She started it a few days after you arrived.  But after you left, she put away all her books, parchments, ink and quills.  She refused to read the letters, which were arriving for her daily.  Lavender found those papers you are holding in the dustbin. Hermione's been doing nothing but staring out the window."  Lady Granger took back the papers and locked them up again.  "The day before I sent for you, a Mr. Charles Lamb showed up on our doorstep, accompanied by a Mr. Alastor Moody, publisher of the Examiner.  They were concerned that our daughter had not gotten back to them and had come all the way from London to check on her wellbeing.  Can you imagine that?"

She sat down by the fire.  "Our daughter has built up a rather impressive ring of correspondents.  After those two left, I made it my business to open each and every letter she had received.  Poets, Playwrights, Anarchists!  She's a friend to them all," she sighed.  "We don't mind, but I believe you should very carefully reconsider your involvement with Hermione.  She is unlike other girls.  Do you really think you can be happy with her?  Do you think she could be happy with you?"

Snape uncrossed his long, elegant legs and leaned forward. "It is my belief that perhaps it is because she is different that we are so admirably suited.  I have met bluestockings and they are invariably, silly, know-it-all poseurs.  The fact that Miss Granger chooses to hide her light under a bushel indicates she still has a sensible head on her shoulders no matter what the contents of that head may be.  Her living in London could be to her advantage; instead of writing, perhaps she could have an afternoon salon to meet with her coterie.  At worst, I should at least have intelligent company to discuss Kean's latest performance."  Snape's upper lip curled into a classic sneer.

Both the Grangers' gasped at Lord Snape's liberalism.  They had no idea any man, least of all this disdainful nobleman, would be so tolerant of their daughter's peccadilloes.  They looked at each other and Maggie gave an imperceptible nod.  "Very well, Lord Snape," said the Baronet, "you have our permission to court Hermione." 

&&&

Hermione thought they must make a very odd scene.  Here she was walking along the hedgerows with Lord Snape.  There had been a thaw and the air, though brisk, was mild enough for the two recent invalids to take a walk.  She stepped quickly to keep up with him and really wished that they might slow down a bit.  However, their chaperones were also walking apace, and Snape was trying to keep a distance ahead of them.  Finally Hermione had had enough.  She stopped and turned around.

"Really, Neville, Lavender, and you too, Harry.  Can't his Lordship and I have any privacy?  I understand you need to be there, but can't you just back it up a little?"  Her breath was steaming into the air and her lovely little arms had folded against her chest in a very stubborn stance.

Snape stared in astonishment at the woman he was courting.  In his entire time here, she'd never said 'boo' to anyone.  The others also seemed quite chagrinned.

"Well, Neville, Lavender, I'll slow down if you two do," said Harry reasonably.

Lavender simpered at Harry, "Well, if you insist." Longbottom kicked meanly at a stone.  

"It's not like there are pirates hiding in Romney Marsh ready to drag Miss Granger away," Snape added, attempting to imitate Harry's reasonable demeanor and sounding snide instead.

"No," drawled Longbottom, "it's the smugglers you've got to watch out for."

Hermione stifled a giggle.  Everyone knew that, Dymchurch, the nearest town to them, had its primary source of revenue from the free traders.  Well, perhaps not everyone.  She looked over at Snape.  He held out his arm and she took it.  She looked back at the servants and winked.  They walked and this time the trio behind them held back.  Eventually they came to the end of the hedgerows.

"If we turn left here, you can just make out the spires of the village church in the distance."  Hermione enjoyed being out in the air again after not feeling well for so long.

"You never cease to surprise me, Miss Granger.  I was beginning to think you were a mouse."  He wrapped his fingers in hers relishing the freedom to finally hold her hand.

"I suppose I'm just feeling better."  She looked up at him, still marveling that he had come back for her.  She felt his hands around hers and she wondered for the hundredth time if she were dreaming.  This was everything she'd ever wanted and she felt giddy with joy.

"Tell me about your writing." Snape looked at her and was a bit surprised to see her frown.

"What do you mean-- my letter writing?" Hermione suddenly felt very nervous. 

Severus gave her a curious look and decided to drop it. "Yes, exactly."

"I have a lot of friends and we write to each other," she said rather too earnestly.

"That's it?"  Severus told himself again to drop it. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Yes." She squeezed back.

They continued on in companionable silence.  Severus now knowing for the first time that Miss Granger was capable of being less than open with him, and Hermione now aware that secrets might be harder to keep if one were married.

&&&

"And did those feet in ancient time  
Walk upon England's mountains green?  
And was the Holy Lamb of God  
On England's pleasant pastures seen?  
And did the countenance divine  
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?  
And was Jerusalem builded here  
Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!  
Bring me my arrows of desire!  
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!  
Bring me my chariot of fire!  
I will not cease from mental fight,  
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,  
Till we have built Jerusalem  
In England's green and pleasant land."

The hymn ended and they all sat down.  Normally Snape didn't like Christmas Midnight Mass, but here in this small, country church, he felt quite at home.  He enjoyed being with the Grangers in their pew and singing with his beloved by his side.  Definitely, it felt good having her there and being slightly more accepted by the family.  They sat and listened to a not overly long reading by Dr. Syn, the parson there at Dymchurch, and they headed home before one AM.

Snape had arranged with the Grangers that he'd be allowed to be alone with her.  Finally, there would be no Longbottom or Lavender gawking at them.              Snape felt nervous, knowing the next few minutes would determine his future happiness.  Hermione sat, and there was a look of surprise on her face that their guards had disappeared.

"Lord Snape?" 

"Please call me, Severus." He forced himself to breath deeply in spite of his racing heart.

Hermione looked up at him.  "Very well, Severus.  Would you like to sit?"  The way he looked at her suddenly made her nervous.

Snape paced the floor of the parlor twice before deciding to take the bull by its horns.  He knelt on the floor by her chair and looked directly into her eyes.  "Miss Granger—"

"Well, if I'm to call you Severus, shouldn't you call me Hermione?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I'd rather call you angel, or dear heart, or… sweetest wife." Snape wanted to be confident, but he'd never proposed before.  He continued to verbally stumble, forgetting his carefully planned words.

Hermione gently laughed and put her hand on his cheek.  "I knew it.  Are you asking me to…?"

"To marry me, if you don't interrupt.  Hermione, may I have your-hand-in-marriage?"  Nerves caused him lose his normal aplomb and he rushed it all out together at the end. 

She nodded twice, staring at him speechlessly.  He brought out a fabric pouch and with trembling hand opened it.  He placed the emerald and diamond ring on her left hand ring finger.  "I cannot express the joy—" and got no further because she'd fainted dead away.  He caught her just before she could hit the floor. "Oh, damn," he said as he stared at her.  He picked her up and headed to the door.  Just across the way in the sitting room her parents were waiting.

"Lady Granger, she's fainted."  Snape stood on the thin edge between total frustration and panic.

"Take her up to her room.  I'll get some smelling salts."  Snape rushed up the stairs with Hermione's father at his back.

It was the first time he'd ever seen her room.  He was astonished by it's simplicity.  He'd expected a lady's boudoir, and instead it contained a simple dark wood bed with a plain white counterpane, clothing chest, wardrobe, a writing table and chair all in the same dark wood.  No frills and with nothing fancy, it could have been a chamber in a nunnery.

 "Did she say yes?" asked her father peering in from the hallway.

"She did.  I think the ring overwhelmed her." Snape stroked a curl of hair out of his betrothed's face, keenly aware of her father's disapproval the entire time.

Granger entered the room and looked at the ring. "I'd say you're right.  I'd faint too if someone gave me that.  It's way too large."

Snape looked at his future father-in-law.  "Are you suggesting it is in bad taste?"  'Pon rep, it was like some nightmare with both the Grangers challenging him over and over.  

"Well, up in London I suppose it's all the crack.  Of course, people will be expecting that sort of thing," said Granger sidestepping the issue.  "I suppose you want a big fancy London wedding as well."

"If money is a problem, I will handle it," he waved his hand in the air dismissively.

"NO.  Money's not a problem.  It's just that you don't understand our Hermione.  She isn't like that," Granger replied.  Snape thought he saw actual tears gathering in the older man's eyes.

"And that is why I am marrying her.  Heavens, if there ever was a refreshing change from the London barracudas that I have to swim with every season."

"Well, just don't go changing your mind." And the Baronet sadly walked from the room just as Lady Granger arrived with the salts.  

"She's coming round. You shouldn't be here in her room." Lady Granger had been ignoring Snape's presence while waving the cut glass bottle of restorative under Hermione's nose.  But now the mother wanted Snape to leave.

"Please let me stay.  We didn't have much of a chance to talk."  He said in his most ingratiating tone of voice.  

"Hermione, dear, you fainted.  Do you wish to speak to Lord Snape?"  Snape noted that, yet again, the Grangers would give anything to their daughter that she asked for.  For a split second he wondered if this would make a girl headstrong and then dismissed the thought as ridiculous.  Headstrong? Not his sensible, sweet Hermione!

She looked at him, "Yes, Mama, I'd like a moment alone with him."  Her eyes were shining and not from fever.  
  


Her mother looked miserable, and said, "I'll just be outside the door."

"Did you mean it?  You want me to marry you?" Hermione asked with a look of wonder.

Snape kissed the back of her hand.  And then, with some daring, he turned her hand over and kissed the palm and then her wrist.  "Yes.  Can there be any doubt?" She in turned stroked his face.  
  


He leaned over her and placed a kiss on her forehead.  He swallowed, knowing that he wanted so much more, but that he would wait.  "Tomorrow, we can discuss all the details.  But rest now.  I suppose it was too much of a shock."  He stroked her hair.

"Severus, kiss me on the lips." She pleaded.

He looked at her and slowly smiled.  He licked his lips once and leaned over and gently brushed his lips over hers, "Sleep well, my love."

He got up and left.  Lady Granger came in and sat on the foot of Hermione's bed.  "Is this what you want?"  Hermione hugged her and whispered in her ear, "Oh, yes, Mama.  It is."  Tears came down both their cheeks.

&&&

Less than three months later, they were married and, two hours after the wedding ceremony, Snape was told that Hermione had been having an affair.  And like a stupid, jealous old fool, he believed the lie.

A/N:  A very special thank you to: Liesl, Mp, Queenie and Yuffiie

Further notes: the hymn sung at Midnight Mass is from a poem by William Blake circa 1804.  The music that we recognize for it was composed by Charles Parry in 1918 for a Woman's Right to Vote Campaign and obviously is a century later than the version that our heroes sung.  Instead, I believe it was Dr. Syn, the parson of Dymchurch who did his own musical adaptation of Blake's poem. There was a wonderful rendition of the hymn on the Brain Salad Surgery album by Emerson, Lake and Palmer, 1973.

Dr. Syn was a character created in 1915 by Russell Thorndike.  Thorndike wrote several books on the character as well as wrote and performed in a stage play (1923) about him.  The most famous version of the story is Disney's 1963 movie called "Dr. Syn alias The Scarecrow", which was based on a book written by William Buchanan in 1956 (who took Thorndike's character because there was no American copyright protecting Thorndike's creation).  I thought I'd just throw Dr. Christopher Syn in because the time and place were appropriate.  And the incredibly sexy Patrick McGoohan played him in the Disney version.

BTW, Dymchurch is a real place as is Romney Marsh.

The real life publishers of the Examiner were Leigh Hunt and his brother John Hunt.  But at the time of this story they were in prison for libeling the Regent.  So I figured Mad Eye Moody might have helped them out. 

Very little cant Glossary:

Fit of the Blue Devils = Depression

Draw Someone's Cork = Punch in the nose and cause to bleed

Posset = A spice drink of hot sweetened milk curdled with wine or ale

Charles Lamb = Real life Essayist and Children's book author

Free-trader = Smuggler

All the Crack = Very fashionable


	6. On Her Own

Chapter 6 – On Her Own

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

Hermione awoke to a woman screaming.  

"Lawks, she's gone.  Her bed's not been slept in.  Oh, I'll catch it fer sure now!"  Hermione recognized the voice of Winky.  

Hermione was disorientated.  Neither in her old room back at Dymchurch, nor in her room in London, it took a moment to realize where she was and that her husband had not returned last night after being called away to help the local minister with 'something'.

She threw on her robe and headed to the hallway.  There was Winky-- a transformed Winky, all clean and rather pretty in a new uniform with her hair put up in a ribbon.  Hermione was pleased to see just how well she had come together with a little attention.

"Winquella, are you looking for me?"  She put her best face on it while realizing that it might seem rather odd that she was now sleeping alone in her husband's bed.

Winky did a double take.  "Oh, there you are Lady Snape.  Oooh, I'm so sorry for disturbing you and your husband."  Winky attempted to sneak a peek past Hermione to see if Lord Snape was indeed, present.

"My husband was called away last night.  And you," having spied Potter out the corner of her eye, she turned quickly before he could creep away, "Harry Potter, I want an explanation."

"Um?  Your Ladyship?"  He looked almost ridiculous with guilt.

"As soon as I'm dressed, I will listen to your report as to where my husband has gone."  Hermione had had a lifetime of watching her mother give orders and hopefully had learned how to gain obedience, if not respect.

Potter blushed and mumbled something before dashing down the backstairs.  Hermione could only hope that he hadn't chosen to disappear altogether.

&&&

"Now, Mr. Potter, your report." Hermione, completely dressed and having had her tea, reminded herself, yet again, that she was Lady Snape.  She had power, she had money, and even though she never wanted either of those things, she could use them.  She sat in the parlor, back very straight, and attempted for all her 17 years to look imperious.

Harry had had some time to prepare for this interrogation and yet again swore to himself that he would remain loyal to his Lordship, who had told him not to breath a word of where he was going.  After all Lady Snape could not be trusted.

"I am waiting."  She met his eyes and they looked at one another.  He continued to obstinately say nothing.  "If you were in my father's household, you would be horsewhipped for your impertinence." 

"Begging your Ladyship's pardon, but I did spend some time at your father's estate and such was not the case and never had."  Harry gave a little smile.

Hermione stood up and started to pace.  "You are trying my patience.  Do you know where Lord Snape is?"  Again, silence.  "I will whip you myself."  Her voice rose in pique.

"Well, I'll go cut a switch for you.  Unless you'd prefer me to get Filch's whip, but that one's a might heavy and you could strain yourself with it."  Again, their eyes met and the battle of wills continued.

Stamping her foot, Hermione exhaled in exasperation.  "Oh, you are really too much.  I don't know how he does put up with you!  You're not his son by any chance?"

Potter was taken aback.  He sat down, not even seeking her approval to be seated.  She sensed the change in him and went and sat down by his side.  "I'm not his son.  I've teased him over the years about it, the hair you know, but when I do so I disrespect my parents.  I remember them from before I entered the orphanage."

Hermione was touched.  "You were an orphan?"

" I still am my Lady.  I became a ward of the state after my parents' died.  And then Lord Snape took over that wardship."

"And he treats you as his servant?"  Hermione was appalled.

"And why shouldn't he?  Once I came of age last year, he could have given me the boot, but he didn't.  I get paid very well for my service to him."  Potter lifted his head with pride.

"Well, he could have adopted you.  It's obvious that you are very close to one another."

"Look, it's none of your business," Potter blushed at his own temerity, "but he did raise me like his own.  I didn't wear rags, only the best that money could buy. I played with the other children in the park only from families of quality.  And he tutored me here at home.  He taught me sword fighting like I was a gentleman.  And when I started to best him, he even hired the top swordsman in London to coach me.  So I don't think you should be so quick to judge him."

"I can see that you love him very much."  Hermione touched the young man's shoulder.  She realized at that moment that they were nearly the same age.  She hadn't thought of him being so young.  "Of course, you want to be loyal to him, but what if he's in danger or in trouble?  Shouldn't we be there for him?"

Potter looked at her in shock.  "Thunder and turf, you are a clever one!  However, Lord Snape can take care of himself."

"Like he did last time, Harry?  He nearly didn't come back alive, did he?  Is that what you want?  Listen to me, we can find him.  We can help.  You and I working together."

Potter stood up in great agitation.  "You are the devil's own at befogging a man.  But I'm no flat to be taken advantage of-- my loyalty remains."  And he dashed out the door.

Hermione sat as tears of frustration welled in her eyes.  She was about to go into a total miff when she remembered the papers she had found in Snape's cloak when he was ill.  She collected two French dictionaries and a book on French grammar from the downstairs library and went upstairs to retrieve the letters and do some translating.

&&&

Three days later found the Snape household and Lady Snape, in particular, quite changed.  Hermione had diligently and accurately translated the documents proving that indeed her husband was a traitor and a spy.  And after two days of brooding and tears, she came to a decision that she would stand by him even if he were destined for the gallows.  She loved him and she was his wife.  The thought that she might lose him at any time both terrified her and made her determined that even if he were in a dire scrape, she would find a way to save him.  

Quietly she sat and mapped out plan after plan.  The first was to pay passage for him to head to the New World.  With that in mind she queried Potter on Snape's finances and how quickly they could get him money if need be.  Strangely, Potter was finally willing to accede to her wishes in this matter, telling her that Snape kept quite a large sum available to him at all times.  Hermione relaxed a bit, since it seemed that she was finally getting through the young man's defenses.  She then thought of a second plan.  Should he be captured, could they not bribe him out of gaol?   Finally, she accepted that perhaps he had fled to France because if he had remained on English soil, it would have been the end of his freedom.  In which case, if she could get a message to him, perhaps they could live in exile together.  Some place interesting, perhaps Greece or Italy?

When she had first realized his perfidy, she thought that she might hate him.  But then as the turmoil of her mind settled, it became obvious that even if he were a pirate, slaughtering innocent travelers, though she would never approve of his behavior, she could never condemn him either.  Her heart spoke clearly to her on the subject.  And if it meant that she was damned for all eternity, then damnation would be her lot-- as long as she could be by his side all things were tolerable!  For his sake, she would renounce all her ethics and morality.  Her love for her husband was greater than for her country.  Oft times she'd take out her copy of Ode to Britannia and cry for her lost virtue and innocence.  But she had sworn before God to love and honor him and, by God, so she would!

There were other changes as well.  Hermione found that without Snape around her freedoms rapidly increased.  Hagrid the chef and Peeves the butler had come down from the Yorkshire estate and were entirely at her disposal.  She soon began to make plans for entertaining once the season began.  She arranged to update the kitchen to Hagrid's liking and she enjoyed going over meal plans with him.  He was a large man, obviously fond of his own cooking and his greatest complaint was that there was insufficient room in the area round back of the house to do his own butchering of cattle and sheep.  He was a great believer in freshness and didn't trust the quality of most of what was to be had in London, even though the variety was greater than up north.  He kept a chicken roost out back of the house and Hermione had been forced to deal with numerous complaints from neighbors about the cock crowing in the morning.  Though she considered it a tempest in a teacup, much time was spent in diplomatically finding solutions for all of Hagrid's needs and the problems that ensued.  She was getting to know the neighbors and found herself looking forward to having them to dinner, if anything, to impress them with her chef's culinary talents.

Peeves on the other hand.  Well…

Hermione thought back to her search for him and finally going up to the servants' quarters.  There she heard a curious sound.  She walked down the corridor and soon was able to identify the noise.  It was the squeaking of bedsprings.  She knew she should have left then, but her curiosity kept her moving forward.  Just outside the door she heard a voice:

"Oh Peevy, harder, oh yes, that's my boy.  Oh, Lawks, yes."

Hermione rather thought that the bed might actually break for suddenly it wasn't just bedsprings squeaking, but the bed itself started banging again the wall. 

Then she heard Peeves' rather high-pitched voice.  "Oh lover, Oh Winky do, do let it happen, open up to me." Then he began to grunt.  

Hermione felt her whole body flush and begin to tremble.  She was becoming increasingly excited by the sounds of her servants' coupling.  She felt ashamed, but she couldn't bring herself to leave.  She reached up and touched her neck, remembering her husband's breath and how it inflamed her.  She missed Severus so much.  The noises from the room began to crescendo and Hermione felt the old familiar pulsing between her legs.  She pushed herself back against the wall, listening to Winky's whimpers, which were now accompanying Peeves grunts.  She began to tighten and relax her own internal muscles in rhythm to the sounds from the room.  She closed her eyes and summoned details of her husband.  She focused on how his mouth felt pressing against hers and what it was like to have his tongue searching for her tongue.  She remembered how he tasted of port.  The pressure of his body against hers as he gripped her and held her fast.  Finally it happened and, just as Winky screamed, Hermione slid down the wall onto the floor, her body shuddering and spent.  

Then came Peeves' loudest grunt and a hoarse low cry from him of "My love, my beauty, ah my love."  And silence.  Hermione tried to catch her breath and bring herself to her senses.  Slowly, breasts still aching with the need to be caressed, she got up and quietly went down the stairs.  At the bottom of the stairs she passed Harry Potter, who gave her a rather troubled look.  Hermione shook her head and directly went to her own room.  Throwing herself on the bed, she gave herself over to her tears.  Oh, to be cast so low as to violate her servants' privacy.  Again, Hermione rued the fact that Severus' spying and treason was coming close to destroying their marriage.

The greatest change though was that Hermione, loner, introvert, bookworm and bluestocking had made a friend!

Hermione had opened the letter with shaking hands:

"Dearest Hermione,

Though I can hardly know where I gained the courage, last night I did it.  Sir Lucius came home from Whites yet again in a drunken stupor.  I managed to remove his keys and made wax impressions of the ones for the apartment and for his trunk.  When I see you tomorrow, we can send Potter to have the keys made and we shall be one step closer to our goals.

I can never express to you what the past few days have meant to me.

Your Loving Friend,

Virginia Weasley'

Ginny had been prepared to force information from Hermione to save herself from a life on the streets.  But what she hadn't been prepared for was Hermione's gentle and deep generosity of spirit.  Within an hour of their first meeting, Ginny found herself in Hermione's arms, weeping out the miseries of her past six months since running away with Malfoy.  Though there was no hope of her salvaging her honor, she was ruined completely and totally, Ginny found solace in her Ladyship's bosom.  Hermione was totally forthcoming with information for Malfoy, even though it was all lies to make Ginny look good and keep Snape from the hangman's noose.  Together, the two young women began to plot Ginny's escape and revenge on her tormentor.

What neither knew was that Harry Potter had been listening at the door the whole time.

&&&

Lord Snape was bored.  He was angry and displeased to say the least.  He had thought his talents were needed.  However, he sat around day after day while generals of the Allied Forces met time and again with Napoleon's generals.  In a few days, Paris would fall to the Allies.  Ostensibly, Snape's information would make the end of the war as bloodless as possible; however, Snape felt restless and ill-used.  Over and over again in his mind he reviewed his last few minutes with Hermione.  How she looked and felt in his arms and how her sweet smell and taste made his senses delight.

He felt the fool being away from his young wife and tried not to imagine what she'd be feeling to have been left in such an abrupt and callous manner.  Now that the end of the war was inevitable, he didn't know why he was away from her.  His superiors, and he hated to think of them that way, had insisted that he leave London for France immediately and he hadn't had a chance to even write her a note.

A few days, a few days more and I will be with my love again, thought Snape.  He never imagined what would be waiting for him when he did return home.

A/N:  Many thanks to my reviewers.  Thank you Faeschild, Queenie, Her Lover's Spy, Liesl, and Lana!

Cant Glossary:

Lawks = vulgar exclamation

Thunder and Turf = exclamation

Befogging = confusing

Flat = person who is able to be tricked

Miff = bad mood

Scrape = predicament 


	7. The Science Experiment

Chapter 7 – The Science Experiment

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

"M- Miss Weasley?"  Potter flushed and stammered out her name.  "Lady Snape will be along shortly.  She had a little problem to attend to downstairs."  Harry attempted a shy and rather unprofessional smile.

Ginny smiled back and sat down.  She expected the handsome young man to leave but he just stood there, weaving back and forth on his feet.  "Is there anything else?" she asked.

She was shocked when the valet approached her and took her hand.  "I know I'm being too forward and I pray that you don't take it wrong.  I just wanted to say, if you ever find yourself in a basket, I mean-- a predicament to please know that you don't just have a friend in Lady Snape, but in myself as well.  I am at your service."  He swallowed, dropped her hand and quickly made to leave.

"Mr. Potter?"  Potter stopped short and turned back to her.  "I am most touched."  Her blue eyes sought out his green ones and for a moment they reached an understanding of the heart, then he cleared his throat and left the room.

"Ginny, are you all right?"  Hermione was standing by the door looking at her friend with concern.

Ginny paled, and took a shuddering breath.  "Over and over again, I am reminded that I am ruined."  She brought out her handkerchief and attempted to stifle her sobs.  "Sometimes, I am just overwhelmed by the generosity of the people around me."  Hermione held her, as she had so often these past few days and allowed the tears to flow from her friend.  Hermione fervently hoped that these tears were those of healing and cleansing, and would lead to her friend's sooner recovery from her low emotional state.

"Come," Hermione whispered, "did you bring the wax impressions?"  She touched her friend's face and wiped a stray hair from her eyes.

"Oh yes.  Here they are.  How quickly can Harry, um, Mr. Potter get them ready?"  She handed over a small box containing the wax tablets.

"He found a place only a few blocks from here.  He didn't seem very surprised.  You know, I wouldn't be shocked to find out that he has been listening to our conversations."  She looked at the door quickly as if Potter might suddenly appear.

"Oh, no.  You don't think so?"  Ginny's heart began to beat faster.  To think that Harry might know her shame and still be willing to extend the branch of friendship or even more…

"Let me get you a restorative.  It is obvious that all of this has taken its toll on you."  Hermione withdrew, taking the box with her, and returned a moment later with a cut glass bottle of ruby liquid and two cordial glasses.  "My mother's homemade elderberry wine.  We shall have to be careful with it, as it is quite strong and only a sip or two can make one rather tipsy."

One half bottle later, the two young ladies were a trifle disguised or, to put in more modern terms, feeling little pain.

"Oh dear, the room is quite spinning round," said Ginny with a barely suppressed giggle.

"I fear, my dear," Hermione's eye's went large.  "Oh did you hear that, I made a rhyme.  I fear my fear, I hear, my dear that we have imbibed entirely too much of Mama's wine."  She gave a small hiccup.  "Oh my.  So," said Hermione in a conspiratorial tone, "what's it like to be carte-blanche," she sniggled, "you know, live as a fallen woman?  It must be frightfully exciting in some ways?"

"Well, it's not much different than being married, I imagine, except Sir Lucius is very cruel."  Ginny tried to focus her eyes.  "Tell me is Lord Snape cruel?"

"Only in that he keeps running away from me."  Hermione felt a bit maudlin. "Over a month after the fact of my marriage and my two unmarried female acquaintances have more experience with men than I do."  She sighed.  "Is Sir Lucius, you know, well…well" Hermione made an incredibly vague motion with her hands.

"Oh, you're asking if he's big?"  Ginny frowned.  "I don't know, do I? There's no frame of reference.  It's not like we could have all the male servants in an' have them drop their pants."  She looked questioningly towards Hermione who shook her head 'no'.  "Pithy, I mean 'pity'."

"Oh, but I do have an idea."  Hermione got up and weaved her way over to the doorway bell pull.  With one good yank, it came off in her hand.  Peeves, a small man wearing an outlandish cravat who Hermione could still barely stand to look at after the 'incident', came into the room.  Hermione handed the bell pull to him.  "Peeves, go and get some cucumbers from Hagrid.  As many as he has."

Peeves gave her an oily look and then said, "Very good, cucumber sandwiches and perhaps some soup as a luncheon for milady and her friend?"

"No, no, I didn't say cuke, cuke-cumber sandwiches.  We need cucumbers, the 'demned' whole thing."  She looked with scorn at the butler, "It's for a scientific experiment."  She looked at Ginny and burst out laughing.

"Very good my Lady."  Peeves nodded his head and headed to the kitchens.

When Potter returned with the freshly made keys an odd sight confronted him.  Lady Snape and her friend, Miss Weasley, were surrounded by about two-dozen cucumbers of all shapes and sizes.  Hermione had two very large ones, one in each hand.  When he walked in they both glared at him and then began to giggle.

"Here are your keys."  He worked hard to keep a straight face and to keep his mouth shut.  Handing over the keys, he then backed out slowly.

"Oh, Ginny, I think he fancies you," whispered Hermione.

"Hmm.  I wonder," Ginny picked up two medium sized cukes and waved them about. "Do you think Harry'd be like this one or that one?"

"Oh well, that one does have a lot of bumps, and it's rather on the small side."  She returned her regard to the two large ones in her hands.  "Now we have figured that this one, is about the right size for Sir Lucius," she put it down and she addressed the one remaining in her hand, "while this one seems to resemble Lord Snape's although I never did peek, nonetheless, I did get to notice a few details when he was ill."  She shut her eyes tightly and felt the vegetable again.  "Yes, very definitely a cuke of Snapian proportions," she tittered.

"But Harry's—" continued Ginny.

"Well, yes he is a bit shorter than the two men.  And his nose and wrists are certainly much smaller than either Sir Lucius or Lord Snape's, so via the logic of correspondences he probably would have," Hermione did an eeney, meeny, miney, moe and then pointed to the larger of the two cucumbers in Ginny's hand, "so logic dictates it would be that one."

Just then there was a knock on the door and Peeves came in.  "Lady McGonagall has arrived."  

Both girls looked at one another and swallowed. Hermione suddenly felt completely sober and quite carefully sat up very straight.

"Um, Peeves, please collect the cukes and bring them back down to Hagrid.  Then show Lady McGonagall in.  Oh and bring in some refreshment as well, including very strong tea."  After Peeves left, Hermione again began to shake with laughter.  "Oh Ginny, that was the best fun I ever had."

Ginny came over and hugged Hermione.  "I'm so lucky to have a friend like you."

They both held their breaths while waiting for the appearance of Lady McGonagall.  When Harry ducked his head in they both exhaled loudly.

"You are in luck, my ladies," whispered Potter.  "Peeves has taken Lady McGonagall straight to her rooms.  She wishes to lave, eat alone in her room and then have a rest before meeting you for tea.  A very close call, and now you will have some time to umm…. recover from being half-sprung." He winked.

"Potter, you are very impertinent.  But I think you are correct.  We are both quite fortunate."  Hermione smiled.  "I wouldn't like this to be her first impression of us.  And Lord Snape would probably never let me forget it."

"Your secret is safe with me."  And Potter gave Ginny a quick look.  Ginny blushed and looked at the ground.  "Might I suggest though, that you both eat something substantial to counter the effects of the wine?  I am sure Hagrid can come up with just the thing."

"Have you ever had too much to drink, Potter?"  Hermione shocked herself by asking a rather forward question, as Potter was leaving.

"I got foxed once, about two years ago.  I don't want to tell you what Lord Snape came up with as a punishment.  I still get green about the gills just thinking on it."  And with that he left.

"Hermione, I have to leave.  Sir Lucius will be up soon.  Tonight I'll start going through that locked trunk of his.  I suspect it is full of his papers.  I saw him go in there before when he finished a diary he was writing.  If I find anything havey-cavey, I will come straight by very early.  But what shall I do once I've given over the documents?"

"Don't you worry.  I have it all worked out," said Hermione as she pecked her friend on the cheek. 

&&&

"Tare an' hounds, man," sneered Snape.  "I will not stay for any celebrations.  I have done my job and—"

Lord Cornelius Fudge raised his hand.  "My dear Lord Snape, please do not shoot the messenger.  It is merely the wish of the Regent, and Lord Wellington to boot, that you be a part of the ceremonies now that we have taken Paris.  Confidentially, you are to receive no less that three medals of Honor."  

"Listen here, you, you," Snape blustered, "what do I want with medals or fancy dinners?  I have a very pretty and young wife waiting for me at home."  Snape raised an eyebrow.  "Which would you choose, Lord Fudge, were you in my position?"

Fudge turned several interesting shades of red.  "Well, I cannot stop you.  Now that the war is over and…" Fudge ceased his speech when he realized that he was talking to an empty room.

A/N:  Many thanks to my reviewers White Raven, Natalia Flor, Lana Riddle, Her Lover's Spy, Queenie, and Liesl.

Cant glossary:

In a basket = in lots of trouble

A trifle disguised = slightly drunk

Carte Blanche = an offer by a gentlemen to live with him which does not include marriage

To lave = not exactly cant more archaic, to wash oneself

Havey-cavey = suspicious

Foxed = drunk

Tare an' hounds = exclamation


	8. To Hell in a Handbasket

Chapter 8 – To Hell in a Hand Basket

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

Ginny thought that Hermione's restorative was quite miraculous indeed.  When she arrived at Sir Lucius' flat she found him awake and in a foul mood.  Yet, she wasn't afraid anymore.  All she had to do was think 'cuke' and she felt like smiling.  Amazingly, her good mood seemed to infect Sir Lucius.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, girl," he drawled.

"Lord Snape is still out of the country and Lady Snape is still in high dungeon with him.  Even though Napoleon has lost the war, I am sure you shall have your revenge on the traitor when his wife spits on him and he discovers he has forfeited her love forever." The lies came easily, having been well practiced with Hermione's help.    
  


Sir Lucius rubbed his hands together.  "Oh, excellent, most excellent."  He came close to her and stroked her fiery red hair.  "I should very much like to show my appreciation," his voice mellowed and Ginny felt a tightening in her stomach.  Ginny couldn't believe that she had once thought she loved him.  And even now, though she was quite certain she despised him, he still affected her.  Ginny thought about her need to avenge herself on him for destroying her life.  And the thought gave her the courage to play the role she needed to perform and do it well.  Thinking about Harry, she put her arms up around the blonde's neck and pressed her lips against his.  He responded ravenously, bruising her lips and thrusting his tongue between them.

Happy to believe that the wench had finally come around, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to their bed.

He was actually somewhat gentler this time than he'd been in months, and Ginny, determined to have his complete trust, allowed herself to respond in ways that she'd not ever done before.   She caressed his muscular back and murmured softly in his ear.  In her mind's eye, she saw Harry's black tousled hair and his kind, sweet smile.  Rather than the vulgar language coming from Sir Lucius' mouth, her imagination presented her with Harry's gentle words of friendship and assurance.  Suddenly her body began pulsing, and it was only with utmost control did she manage not to scream out Harry's name as her orgasm exploded forth.  Sir Lucius grunted in surprise that his young victim should have become so aroused and, believing it due to his talent, started to thrust wildly and immediately sped himself into his own climax.

Sir Lucius kissed her softly once before falling asleep and Ginny lay awake thinking how amazing it was to cuckold a man through imagination alone.  She felt closer to Harry than she ever had and prayed that one day they could be together.

It took Ginny several evenings of clandestine reading to find the information which would send Lucius to gaol.  It was in a very old diary where he confessed to having, under the orders of Voldemort, killed a young married couple.  If proven, he would most certainly hang.  Ginny also stole some very official looking letters in French.  She hoped that these would serve as proof that he was a traitor to the British Empire.  She hid the materials carefully, and went to bed.  Lucius almost always caroused until dawn, especially now that the war was over and there was little to occupy him except to drown his sorrows at Whites over Napoleon's loss of the war.  Ginny went to bed, happily aware that he would come home  too drunk too even think about sex, and that by the time he awoke she would be long gone.

&&&

"Well, pull harder!"  Snape leaned back and held onto the headboard of the bed.

"How long have you kept these on for?"  Potter was trying to pull off Snape's boots and having no luck at all.

"I've been traveling non-stop since Paris fell.  Try again, or maybe we can get Hagrid to help," he groaned as Potter again tried to remove the boot.

"I tell you what.  I'll get a knife from him and cut them off," said Potter with gritted teeth.  He changed position so that the boot was between his legs and he was facing away from Snape.

"These are top of the line, fine leather boots."  Snape growled.  "There will be no talk of destroying these excellent boots."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the boots, your lordship.  I figured we could take a sharp ax and hack through your legs just above the boot top.  If we use lots of rags we wouldn't get a drop of blood on 'em."  Potter delivered it all in perfect deadpan.

Snape glared.  "And what is that chicken doing up here?"  

Potter turned around and indeed there was a large red hen walking about the hallway.  "I don't know your lordship.  I suppose when the workman broke the window downstairs they must have come in through the hole.  But we repaired it with paper just this morning."  Potter was unsure if he was to continue working on the boot or to go chase the fowl.  Just then Hagrid showed up. 

"Ah, there yeh are Penelope.  Well come along then."  He gently stooped down and picked up the bird.  He looked up at Snape and Potter.  "Oh, by the way, I just let in seven people come ter see you.  Pretty peculiar, if yeh ask me, they all got red hair.  One of 'em said something about beating you up fer a gel yeh disgraced.  Aye told 'em they could wait in the sittin' room."  Hagrid began to leave and then stopped.  "Do yeh wan' me to stick around? Aye don't think they will dare plant a facer on yeh if I show 'em the better side of m' cleaver."  Hagrid stomped down the hall, off to retrieve his favorite knife.

Snape turned white with anger.  "Potter, do you know anything about this?  And where is everyone?" He snarled,  "I haven't seen Peeves or Winky. And why are the beds unmade?  Why do we even have chickens, anyway?  And what workmen broke our windows?  And where is Lady Snape?"

Potter looked like he would have liked to follow Hagrid, or at least jumped out the window.  However, he took a deep breath and begun.  "Well, you did leave with very little notice and left no instructions at all.  Lady Snape was in charge and I'm sure once she returns from the theatre tonight she will be glad to give you a full accounting."  He began to leave.

"Stop right there, Potter!  If you think you can escape this," Snape stood up and came nose to nose with him, "you are dreaming. You shall not leave my side until everything, and I do mean everything, is explained to my satisfaction.  Now, follow me while I meet with these people downstairs."

As Snape entered the room, several things happened at once.  A brash young, red-haired man about Potter's age yelling, "Here's the blighter", rushed him.  Potter very quickly put his body between said young man and Snape, much to Snape's relief.  An older gentleman, about fifty, started crying, "where's my lil' princess? What have you done with Ginny?"  Hagrid showed up with a bloody cleaver and another young man screamed, "Watch out for that giant, he'll kill us all."  Two other red-haired men, twins by their appearance, began to laugh like a pair of hyenas.  All in all-- Bedlam, under a full moon, had more decorum.

Snape sincerely regretted leaving the various fetes of Paris.  A throbbing began in his head and he pinched his upper nose.

"Everyone, please stop this instant.  I have no idea to whom you are referring.  Can just one speak at a time and explain this intrusion?"  Shape was yelling at the top of his voice over the cacophony of red-haired men.

The eldest man came forward and the others stepped back allowing him some room.  "The name's Weasley, Squire of the Burrow.  These boys are all my sons.  A blackguard stole our little Ginny, she's our youngest and the only girl," tears sprung to his eyes but he managed to continue, "and we've been searching high and low for her."  One of the sons brought out a handkerchief and gave it to him, whereupon he blew his nose long and hard. "Thank you, Percy."

The other Weasleys all started talking amongst themselves.

"SILENCE," Snape was beside himself. "There is no such personage here, now please all of you leave."

"Begging your Lordship's pardon," Potter quietly spoke up, "but much has happened since you left town."

Snape spun and stared at the young man.  "You know of this Miss Weasley?" he said softly.

"Yes, I do," said Potter rather bravely since again a general melee erupted, this time with him as the focal point.  

Snape's left eye began to twitch.  "Will everyone kindly have the goodness to SHUT YOUR GOBS?"

A shocked silence fell over the room.  Snape turned to Weasley, "I humbly suggest that you have your sons wait in the dining room.  Our butler, Peeves," Snape stopped at Potter's waving his hand trying to get Snape's attention, "Oh, what is it, Potter?" he hissed with extreme annoyance.

"Begging your Lordship's pardon, but Peeves is on his honeymoon."  Potter spoke swiftly, but kept his voice and head down.

"His WHAT! What do you mean honeymoon?  Servants do not get honeymoons.  I haven't even had mine yet."

"Perhaps after we've dealt with Miss Weasley's situation, I could explain," said Potter nervously.

Snape realized that seven pairs of eyes, blue, brown and varying indeterminate shades and hues in-between were focused on the two of them.  "Well, yes. Later then.  Hagrid!"

"Right here, Lord Snape."  Hagrid poked his huge head round from the hallway.  "You'd be wanting some refreshments for the young men?"

"Thank you, exactly."  Snape turned, "well, everyone except the Squire, please follow our cook."

Snape sat down with a heavy sigh.  He was quite aware that after traveling non-stop for days he was a bit rank.  The Squire of the Burrow sniffed a couple of times before sitting down at a slighter greatly than appropriate distance.

"Mr. Potter will explain everything," said Snape through gritted teeth.

"Well, the thing is…  To begin at the beginning…" Potter pulled his fingers through his hair making it stand straight up on his head.  "Miss Weasley was taken advantage by a Sir Lucius Malfoy—"

"Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley.

"MALFOY!" barked Snape wondering how could any rake get around so much or so quickly in despoiling young maidens.

"Umm.  Yes."  Potter looked at the two men and decided it was safest not to make eye contact again with Snape who seemed quite ready to foam at the mouth.  Yes, thought Potter, the father was definitely the more reasonable one of the two. 

"Lady Snape made the acquaintance of Miss Weasley and they became friends.  Upon hearing of the misfortunes of Miss Weasley, and she has I'm sorry to say been most vilely abused," Potter paused while the Squire yet again burst into tears and had to be calmed down by Potter patting him on the back.  "Lady Snape took it upon herself to offer Miss Weasley sanctuary from the monster and gave her a position as her personal companion."

"Without my permission?" thundered Snape.

"Well, it wasn't like we could reach you, was it?" No sooner than the angry words had left his mouth he regretted it.  Things were not going well, not well indeed.  Snape glowered at him.  Not a good sign, thought Potter.

The Squire slowly pulled himself together.  "I thank you sir for your accounting of my daughter."  Weasley then turned to Snape, grabbed him and hugged him as Snape attempted to worm out of his grasp.  "You, my good sir, have had the wonderful fortune to marry an angel.  Though it grieves me to hear of what has happened to my daughter, my family shall rest well for the first time in months.  How soon can I see here?"  He anxiously looked from lord to valet.

Snape sneered at Potter, "Well, answer the man."

"Err, Lady McGonagall, Lady Snape and Miss Weasley are all having a light supper with Sir Remus Lupin and his wife and then they have a box reserved at the Drury Lane Theatre.  They are to see the premiere of Othello with Kean in the title role."

Weasley was taken aback.  "Theatre?  She's gone to the theatre?"  He seemed to be in shock.  Potter and Snape shot each other a look, Potter shrugged.

"So Lady McGonagall has arrived?" Snape heaved a sigh of relief.  At least the young ladies were properly chaperoned.

Squire Weasley sighed and his shoulders slumped.  "The Theatre!  There has never been a Weasley to set foot in such a low place!  How will I ever tell Molly?"  He shook his head.  "Running off we could forgive, but going to the theatre? This will be the death of my poor wife."

Snape with a nod of the head indicated to Potter to get the red-haired man out of there.

"Well, it is the great Edmund Kean after all, and Shakespeare no less.  Nothing to sniff about—" He actually had to put his arms around the man and hoist him on to his feet.  "The Regent has a box there, too.  It's a royal performance, in celebration of the ending of the war.  Historical event, just think of it."  During his disjointed speech, Potter managed to propel Weasley to the door and into the hallway.  The six Weasley boys all came along from the dining room and were struck silent by their father's state of deep despair.  Silently, abashedly, they left.

"Well, it's a good thing she didn't join the theatre and become an actress or she'd be disowned for sure," said Potter to himself.

Snape sat with his arms crossed and watched Potter muttering.  Finally Snape quietly said,  "Well.  Now… A full accounting sir!"  Snape felt bone weary and truly only wanted to take a bath and a nap; however, this was his home and he needed some understanding of the chaos that it had tumbled into. 

Potter chewed on his bottom lip.  If ever he could use a glass of elderberry wine it was now.  He began to nervously pace.  "Well, it's not like there's anyone to blame but yourself," Potter flinched at Snape's sudden inhale of breath,  "or rather the people who called you away.  Lady Snape locked herself in her room and cried for two days.  Wouldn't come out, wouldn't eat.  I was thinking we'd have to ship her back to her parents for her own good."  Potter paused to see if the story was having a softening effect—it wasn't. 

He shoved his fingers through he hair and started again.  "It wouldn't have done, wouldn't have been good at all for her to fall ill again.  Fortunately Hagrid and Peeves turned up and that got her going.  Hagrid brought all his chickens with him.  Insisted that he needed fresh produce, even if it were only eggs.  So we had to build a chicken coop, and then the neighbors complained about the rooster.  So she finally came out of her chambers and she and Hagrid liked each other right away.  And you see sir, Hagrid wasn't happy that you'd bothered to redecorate the whole house for your marriage but didn't fix up the kitchens, so she hired these workers to—"

"Enough!  And who gave her access to the funds for this?"  Snape rubbed his eyes, and thought, please just to get the bleeding boots off and have a hot bath.

"Well, she asked if we had enough money and I said of course we did. What? Did you want me to lie?  She's your wife, and she was terribly low and well, it did lift her spirits to be in charge of things.  I thought that's what you wanted."

"Continue," Snape said in a sepulchral tone.

"Well, just about then Lady Snape caught Peeves and Winky flagrante delicto, hmm, no two ways around it, sir."

Snape winced and put his head in his hands.

"Lady Snape thought about it a few days and then called in the local minister who gave Peeves a good talking to about moral responsibility.  Then Lady Snape pitched into him as well.  My, she could go on the Brimstone circuit, because she had the terror of all damnation put into him.  So, though he's always been somewhat of a cocks o' the walk where the maids were concerned up at the Yorkshire estate, and never wanted to settled down, once her Ladyship got through with him-- he asked for Winky's hand straight away.  Then after they got riveted, Lady Snape gave them two days off to well, get things out of their system."

Snape looked up from his hands.  "What else?"

"Well, she loves you very much.  She's spent days trying to figure out how to save your hide."  Potter waited for the explosion.  It didn't come.

"She thinks you are a spy for Napoleon.  She found the papers in your cloak, you know, the ones that you kept in case you were captured behind Nappy's lines.  And she translated them.  So, she's been trying to figure out how to save you in case you came in way of the hangman's noose.  She's a bright one, right corky she is.  She found out exactly whose fist to grease to get you out of gaol.  She has a listing of all the ships heading to the New World and other listings for villas in Italy and Greece where you can go live-- say the New World thing doesn't work.

"The thing is, sir, I stayed loyal to your wishes.  You didn't want me to tell her where you went and I didn't."

Snape looked at Potter, eyes glittering. "Anything else?"

"No sir."  

In a hushed voice of velvet Snape said, "Well, first you shall collect Miss Weasley's things so she can return to her family…"

"Oh, no.  I couldn't do that sir.  She doesn't want to go back and I'm in love with her.  I'm going to ask her to marry me."

One could almost hear the proverbial straw snap Snape's camel's back.  His black eyes blinked once.

"Potter, your services are no longer required." He stood up and pointed to the door.  "Gather your things.  You are leaving this house, tonight."

"Severus."

"No, Harry, you knew this pretense of your being my valet was just until the war ended.  It's over now.  I don't need you to 'cover my back' anymore.  Time for baby bird to leave the nest and fly off to Oxford."  Snape spoke in a tone that left Potter little room for maneuvering. 

"But Severus—" Potter tried anyhow.

"Excuse me.  Did I just hear you say you met someone?  Oh yes, Malfoy's leavings.  You want to marry that light-skirt." Snape smiled coldly.

"She's a good woman who made a mistake.  Just one mistake!  And look, I think I'd be in pretty good company, all things considered about Malfoy's leavings."

Snape went pale and stared at the young man in disbelief.  Potter flushed bright red and looked at the floor, "I'm sorry Severus-- I didn't mean it."

Severus pulled out an envelope from his jacket.  In a silky, dangerous voice meant to brook no dissent he said, "Give this to the dean of Christ Church.  He will see that you start your studies immediately.  I wrote it while in Paris.  You see? You're not being punished.  It's simply time for you to be going and making your way in this life.  Remember I gave you the choice: study to be a parson or have a commission in the military.  You chose—

"I chose to stay with you."  Potter dropped to his knees.  "Let me stay here a while longer, Severus.  Just until you find a replacement for me.  I promise—"

"You come to me and tell me that you wish to marry.  And how are you going to support her when you don't have sixpence to scratch with?  I forbid you to pay court to this woman and that is my final say.  Yes, you are an adult and as an adult you should know better than to lead on a woman that you cannot financially take care of.  So the sooner you get cracking at Oxford, the sooner you can go out and start a family, if that's what you want.  You know this is the only way, everything I have is entailed." His words were filled with bitter pain.

Potter got up and walked to the window, leaning his head against the glass.  "I understand what you are saying, Severus.  I do." 

"Good.  You can write me from Oxford."  Snape walked out and headed for the kitchens.  He never saw the tears going down Potter's face, nor did Potter know that the same was happening to the man who had been his father in all things, except name, for so many years.

By the time Snape reached the kitchens, no trace of his tears remained.  He found Hagrid sitting by the stove, pickling onions.  "Well, sir, what can Aye do fer yeh?" asked the huge chef.

"First you can remove these demned boots from my feet.  Potter was too weak to handle it.  And then you can boil water for my bath.  I need to go to the theatre tonight and I must be presentable."

Finally in his bath, Snape allowed himself the luxury of self-doubt.  He had worked so hard to try to raise the boy right.  Where had he failed that the child had become so rebellious on the one hand and so terribly clingy on the other?  Snape remembered how the orphan would come to his bedroom after a nightmare.  Snape wanted to comfort the child, but he also wanted him to know that dreams were silly things, not to be fussed over.  Had it been wrong to allow Harry to sleep at the foot of his bed at those times?  Snape sighed.  It destroyed him to see the young man leave, and yet, all children did grow up and do so.  Why did it have to be so difficult in Harry Potter's case?

He remembered how he'd been strong-armed by one of the Ton to go visit the orphanage.  How he'd been struck first by the boy's bright green eyes and then with the awareness of how that with his scrawniness and his cough the child would probably not live much longer.  And on impulse, he decided to save the boy's life.  Later Snape had heard how an epidemic had gone rampaging in the orphanage killing slightly more than one third of the waifs, but not his Harry.  No, his Harry was kept well fed and warm and far from harm's way.  But now, if he wished Harry to continue to thrive he had to be unselfish and let go of him, for better or worse, to live his own life.  Snape decided that he had, after all, done the right thing in sending Harry away.  So why couldn't he stop crying?

A/N:  Many thanks to my dear reviewers: Natlia Flor, Queenie, Lana Riddle, lissy K

Cant Glossary:

Restorative = Tonic

Dungeon = Bad mood

Plant a facer = Punch in the face

Riveted = Married

Fist to grease = Bribe

Gaol = Jail

Nappy = Napoleon

Corky = Bright and lively

Light-skirt = Woman of easy virtue

Haven't a sixpence to scratch with = Have no money

Quick note on the concept of entailing property:  I have used the concept extremely loosely here.  I know it can prevent inheritances from going to certain descendents.  However, for the purposes of this story, Snape's money and position is not something he can give to an adoptee.  I'm pretty sure that this is a misuse of the concept, which goes back to Roman law, but hell, it's fanfiction!  So please suspend your disbelief and please extend your concept of what an 'entail' might entail.  (Ooops, a pun, wicked me!)


	9. Author's Note

Lord Snape's Dilemma – Author's note

This story is rated R.  However in the last three chapters, there are some lemons, which may be a strong R.  In my husband's eyes they are NC-17's.  We've been back and forth on this a few times.

In the light of the fact that several very well known, really excellent writers have had their works booted and banned from FF dot net over the past week, I have decided to take the conclusion of my story over to AFF dot net.  I had thought of trying to re-write this story to make it quite PG-13, but it loses something.  I'd rather my readers get to read my story as I originally intended it to read.

I know that FF dot net does not accept URLS so I am writing out the dot.  You can find the conclusion to Lord Snape's Dilemma at AFF dot net under my name – Aprilgrey.

If you have any problems, please e-mail me and I'll be glad to send you the final installments as attachments.

I'm sorry about this difficulty and thank you in advance for your understanding of my situation.

April


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